


Unscrew My Head [And Rinse It Out]

by ShortSinews



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Awkwardness, Drinking, F/M, I'll update the tags as I go, M/M, Man I hate those exclamation mark thingys, Tattoo shops, The bois are still cute though, They remind me of my dark weeaboo past on fan fiction.net #I'd rather forget, This fic is not as shitty as the tags, anyway, artist! Gerard, fear of needles, that rhymed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortSinews/pseuds/ShortSinews
Summary: What starts off as Lindsey dragging him to a tattoo parlor to overcome his ‚crippling‘ fear of needles turns into Gerard meeting a breathtaking guy called Frank.Which is nice and all, if Gerard hadn’t, well, fucking fainted right then and there on the parlor floor and simultaneously spewed blood everywhere by hitting his head, hard.While Gerard desperately tries to forget and Frank doesn't understand what is going on, it is the start of a clumsy, awkward friendship full of the two rubbing each other the wrong way, drunk, pseudo-philosophical deep talks and heated discussions about music that might eventually turn into something more.Title: How it Goes - Billy Talent





	1. /1/

**Author's Note:**

> I'm seeing Billy Talent tomorrow (SCREAM) and I've spent the whole day just listening to bands over and over so I got inspired by crappy 250p pictures of Gerard with that fucking dopey red mop on top of his black hair (still love it, haha) while simultaneously listening to Mindless Self Indulgence which again lead to me coming up with this fic.
> 
> It was wild.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

To be absolutely, completely, utterly honest, Gerard Arthur Way has no idea why he is currently stumbling down the blistering hot and pothole-scarred main road of the small shithole he likes to call his home town. His right hand provides his shaky lips to nurse his probably fifth beer in one and a half hours and his left arm is being attacked by his best friend Lindsey in her trademark iron-like grip.

He has no fucking idea how on earth he let himself be persuaded to actually pull this shit off.

It was probably the amount of wine he’s had the other day, he muses to himself as he stifles a small burp. He should say that he’ll never touch a single drop of alcohol again, but then again he’s never been one to not drink when everything can be so much easier by drowning yourself in cheap liquor.

„If I’m going to start projectile vomiting all over the place it is going to be entirely your fault.“ He says a little to loudly and pins Lindsey down with a wobbly look, regardless of the raging rays of the summer sun burning into his retinas, because, you know, he’s hardcore like that.

A tight lipped, pretend youthful mother with a bored child hanging off her arm gives him an eerie look but he just tilts his chin up and provocatively raises an eyebrows at her.

He isn’t talking shit from anyone, especially not today, even less so from conservative, narrow-minded, probably single catholic suburban wannabe yoga-and-kale soccer moms. 

„We talked about this, Gee.“ Lindsey sighs playfully but tightens her fingers on Gerard’s already pretty abused arm, bruised more than a little from his earlier attempt to ‚flee‘. „Also, your sixth beer is not going to eliminate the potential of you emptying the contents of your stomach onto the parlor floor, you know that.“ Gerard jumps when he feels her sharp fake nails scrape against his soft biceps once more.

„Fifth.“ He corrects her as he drowns the last sediment of the watery, disgustingly cheap beer.

„What?“ 

„Fifth. I only had five beers.“ He grimaces and tries to clean the walls of his gums furiously. He should have gone with Vodka from the start. Jersey beer is the fucking worst. Ever.

„Whatever you say, hero.“ Lindsey giggles and lights herself a cigarette for the remaining walk, of course without offering Gerard one. 

He wonders how much worse this day can get.

 

[†]

 

The tattoo studio is a small place crammed in between an incredibly run down nail salon and an other vine-covered closed store that looks like it has been abandoned for at least a decade.

Despite it’s shabby and not at all fancy exterior, the shop seems to have quite the honorable reputation, or so Lindsey adamantly insists, and she likes to boast about knowing her way around in the tattoo business. 

Gerard doesn't particularly care about the shop’s exterior in the slightest, he just wants this tirade to be over as soon as possible so he can entrench himself into his messy apartment, bury himself in several layers of blankets and watch ‚Westworld' until he passes out in front of his crappy, cheap TV.

Also, maybe get so drunk he won’t remember anything of today.

To his dismay, Lindsey makes him get rid of his beer bottle before she expertly pushes open the severely scratched and sticker-littered double glass door of which only one half is working. A few crystal-like broken glass shards barely held together by dusty duct tape suggest there has been an attempted break in or something a while ago. 

Which is not surprising, New Jersey is fucking violent. And does absolutely nothing to stop the electric shivers sparking up and down Gerard’s spine uncomfortably.  
„This is the fucking worst idea you’e ever had.“ Gerard sighs deeply and produces a defeated, whiny sound in the back of his esophagus as he leans onto Lindsey’s shoulder for support. „And that’s fucking something, coming from me.“

„Shush, don’t be rude in front of the owners.“ She pinches his cheeks fondly and walks up to the empty counter. 

The walls are plastered with all sorts of retro posters of classic punk bands and comic themed wall scrolls and abstract art that looks pretty legit to Gerard’s keen artist eye. It’s very unlike the infinite number of typical hipster studios that always try too hard to be authentic when they’re clearly not.

Thick design books containing art and creativity are scattered on the low metal framed glass tables in the back, worn off and frayed from the number of people who have leafed through them with greedy thumbs.

Whoever was in charge of the interior design for this room is somebody Gerard feels like he could totally get used to. In fact, Gerard’s apartment looks kind of similar to this place, but still. Right behind the sterile doors down the hallway behind a mint green painted wall looms Gerard’s biggest fear.

Yepp, he still has no fucking clue why he agreed to Lindsey’s ever so weird idea. 

Well okay, maybe he was a little very wasted that evening. 

But when isn’t he these days, to be honest.

 

[†]

 

[Flashback to the dark past, a.k.a. two days/nights ago]

 

„Kay, Gee, we totes need to do something about this.“ Lindsey complains and flicks the dying ashes of her cigarette anywhere but into Gerard’s skull shaped ashtray. 

They were watching the second season of Grey’s Anatomy because Lindsey is going through a nasty breakup with some asshole Gerard has – of course – constantly warned her about and ‚incredibly trashy romanticized and painfully stereotypical shows are just my jam when i’m sad, leave me alone, okay?‘.

Long story short, Gerard is a fucking awesome friend, he could be watching ‚Twin Peaks‘ or some good shit on the semi-legally obtained Russian Sky Bert had provided him with somehow years ago since Gerard has always been chronically running low on money but still needs his daily fix of quality TV.

„Bout what?“ Gerard asks, only slurring a little.

Lindsey stole a few bottles of cheap wine from the buffet at a family dinner earlier the day and the two of them are currently chugging the horrifyingly disgusting stuff like it’s water – so yeah, they are both… pleasantly buzzed, if he might say so.

Seriously, she could have bought some ratty three dollar brand at the cheap liquor store across the street that is run by a man that is more greasy beard than actual human and it would have tasted better than this dry, bitter cat piss.

„Dude, this is the…“ She frowns her brows hard, counting nonsensical numbers on her ringed fingers, causing more ash to drop onto his beloved armchair. „…prolly sixty third time you have flinched at a needle or other fancy snip-snip object they cut open bellies with–

Gerard shudders.

Lindsey cackles and leans far back into the armchair, head dropping onto the soft fabric. „See? That’s what I’m talking about.“ She dramatically puts out her cigarette into the ashtray and leans closer to her incredibly wasted friend who is lounging in the beanbag next to her, socked feet propped up onto the totally useless coffee table that’s only there to provide more space for Gerard to dump his several drawings, concept sketches and scribbles onto.

„You, my dear,“ She announces, determination overpowering the drunken slur as she jabs a finger into his soft chest. Gerard did absolutely not emit a girly shriek, he. did. not. „Are going to get rid of that fear of needles and various other shiny pointy objects this instant.“

Gerard groans pitifully.

„I really don’t think so, Linds.“ He sighs and pushes her hand, that is still attacking his skin, away rather forcefully. „It’s like, anchored deeply into my system, there is no way I can expel that fear from my brain. It’s like telling the world musical.ly should be shut down because it’s the most fucking cancerous thing this generation of teens could ever come in touch with, but no, that’s not happening either.“

„Stop being so pessimistic!“ Lindsey pouts her worn off red lips and leans even closer to Gerard. He, in the meantime, curses himself for having such an energetic friend who’s adventurous spirit seems to exceed infinity when she has one and a half bottles of wine coursing through her system. „Also, don’t compare your life to Musical.ly. That’s like, rock bottom of the infinitely deep dark pit of depression.“

„I am a fucking chronic pessimist, and that is really something you will never get rid of.“ Gerard chuckles and stubs the cigarette he has smoked down to the filter out too. He picks at the beginnings of what seems to be yellowing nicotine stains around his nails. 

Damn, he totally smokes too much. He drinks way too much as well. Seriously, there is nothing okay in his miserable life, why is Lindsey trying to purposely make it harder?

„Well yeah, that’s true, but…“ She seems to have an idea as she leaps off the armchair dramatically, not without almost stumbling drunkly into Gerard’s slowly dying pot plant, and pumps her fist into the air. 

„I have the perfect idea, oh my sweet Jesus.“

Gerard groans once more. „Oh fucking no, we are not going to execute, nor even consider or touch on any sort of plan you come up with when you are drunk. No. Never. Absolutely fucking nope.“

„Oh yeah?“ Her painted lips twist into a mischievous smile Gerard has learned to fear with his life. 

Fuck, here comes the blackmail. He is so screwed.

„What if I told you…“ She starts melodramatically, innocently fluttering her eyelashes and interlacing the spider-like, elegant digits of her manicured fingers under her chin. „That a certain somebody called Bert McCracken has been texting me lately and asking me if you still live in town?“

Gerard’s breath hitches. „You wouldn’t–“

Lindsey laughs and leans into Gerard’s side, knowing he could never be truly mad at her and that the threat is probably faker than a Kardashian. 

He really wants to, but the annoying tickle of her bleached hair in his neck is so familiar he can’t help himself but grin drunkly at the ceiling. „So, if you really don’t wan’t to do anything about that stupid fear of needles, I guess you don’t mind if I tell him you live mere two streets away from where you used to share a room with him.“

„Oh man, you suck.“ Gerard mumbles sleepily against her shoulder, unconsciously snuggling up closer into her side.

„I know.“ Lindsey grins triumphantly and strokes a black lock out of Gerard’s forehead. „You, my friend, are going to watch me getting a tattoo. Appointment’s in two days, by the way.“

Gerard tries to protest, but sleep is already washing over him, leaving him with only one last dissatisfied huff before darkness swallows him.

 

[Back to the harsh present]

 

[†]

 

If there is one thing that Gerard is absolutely sure about, it is that he is not competent of managing a complicated situation. 

Like, at all.

Under ‚complicated situations‘ are listed: For example his complete incompetence of functioning when he is scared out of his mind or is undergoing a severe case of anxiety, followed by his disability to form actual, literate sentences when he is being overwhelmed by said anxiety.

HIs life has been a constant roller coaster at least ever since he hit the horrifying age of thirteen where everybody feels mistreated and misunderstood and doesn’t quite fit in. Only that his roller coaster tends to move from ‚this is the shittiest place I’ve ever been in, stage three lung cancer would be quite welcoming today‘ to something like ‚wow, only seasonal depression that is trying to tie me to bed today? Nice.‘ lately.

Therefore, when you’re a depressed slash just in general messed up art student that struggles with paying his rent on a daily basis and spends his free time furiously jobbing at the record store and taking up Lindsey’s spare time, you begin to find beauty in the smallest things, really.

So yeah, of course only because he is scared out of his mind right now, he is suddenly hyper aware of the sheer fucking beauty the melodic voice hastily bursting into the room and hectically apologizing to Lindsey seems to contain.

Honestly, Gerard doesn’t know if he is 100% okay at the moment, his system might be (it totally is) fucking around with him after he’s had five beers and he can literally feel his body releasing masses of masses of stress hormones into his bloodstream, and he feels like emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor then and there, but wow, that fucking voice.

It’s smooth and warm and deep at the same time with just a hint of flamboyance to it, like amber tree resin agonizingly slowly, smoothly creeping down the roughness of the bark and leaving tiny, golden-glittering air pockets behind. Wow, just, fucking wow.

Lindsey’s hand claws at his neck with her sharp fake nails and turns him around, ripping him right out of his daydreaming.

„We’re here for a walk in, if you have the time.“ Lindsey smiles sweetly, heavily black painted eyes curving upwards in her ever so friendly and warm way. „I know I should have called but you do take walk in appointments, right? I already have the design in the right size and everything.“

The only thing that is more beautiful than Lindsey’s smile is the short guy’s eyes that jump from the blonde woman to rest on Gerard, taking him in in his whole jittery, sweaty and wreck-of-a-human-being glory.

Who is immediately bewitched, transfixed, glued to the spot, brain dead, unable to function.

If the guy’s eyes were the forest, they would be the Redwood forest with the afternoon light trickling through the leaves in hundreds of different shades of emerald and liquid gold. If his eyes were the ocean, they would be the Mariana Trench, wild, untamed and inviolable and deep at the same time. Seriously, if his eyes were the–

„Um, are you getting tattooed too, or…“ They guy, apparently called ‚Frank‘ as it says of his name tag, asks slowly, hesitantly, eyes flicking to Lindsey again with a concerned and slightly… weirded out expression?

Fair enough, Gerard thinks. He isn’t even remotely interested in finding out what he himself looks like now.

„Uh, what, me?“ He asks, voice pitching a little too high for his liking, but it’s not like he can do anything against his brain deciding to constrict his throat.

Frank’s perfectly shaped eyebrows knit together and he nods slowly, looking to Lindsey for help. 

Gerard wants to laugh at how much of a fool he is making himself right now. 

Seriously, Lindsey wasn't lying when she said something had to be done about his fear of needles. He is about to lose his mind right now and nothing has even happened. He in fact can’t remember the last time a doctor wanted to take a blood sample. He seriously only live by the motto: Never go to the doctor and just hope you don’t die. 

Anything to avoid the needles, and here he is, in a fucking tattoo parlor.

„Haha, oh no no no, don’t worry about him.“ Lindsey decides to help out the situation, suppressing a giggle at Gerard’s devastated state. „It’s just me. But we kind of do have a favor…“ She begins, and Frank frowns again, this time in kind of an alarmed and cautious manner.

„Could this guy… stay and watch?“

Gerard doesn’t know what s the worst: Lindsey’s phrasing that makes him look like some kind go voyeur, Frank’s confused expression or just the casual fact that his anxiety-meter has reached level ‚if I don’t pop at least five Xanax right now I am willing to jump out of any window of any hight to escape this situation'. 

Wow, this is going really fucking peachy.

 

[†]

 

„Okay, um, since Patrick and Brendon are already working on other customers, I’m the only one left. Is that okay? You can always make an appointment with someone else and come back later.“ Frank asks politely as he leads them back to the hallway leading to several sanitized rooms in the back, keeping a vigilante eye on Gerard every few seconds, probably to make sure he doesn’t do/try anything funny.

Which Gerard can completely understand, he doesn’t trust himself either right now to be honest.

„Oh, not at all, I’ve heard only the best about you. That black and white work on your instragram? Fucking amazing.“ Lindsey smiles widely and Frank blushes, which is the most aesthetically pleasing thing Gerard has seen in the last, probably, six months. And that includes seven seasons of naked Daenerys as well as endless marathons of RHCP live shows when young Anthony Kiedis still had that gorgeous long hair. 

The room is just as cold as Gerard’s clammy palms and his skin tingles as the door shuts behind them. There is really no escape now. They are doing this for fucking real.

„Let me just get some stuff, make yourselves comfortable.“ Frank calls out to the two over his shoulder before he swings a used rag over his shoulder and leaves the room. 

„Oh my god, you are such a mess!“ Lindsey bursts out laughing as soon as the door clicks shut, holding her stomach and supporting herself on the sterilized table chair with the other arm. „I’ve never seen you like this, oh Lord.“ She wipes a tear from her eye and continues bursting out in tiny giggles.

„I’m beginning to lose my fucking shit.“ Gerard chuckles a little desperately, burying his face in the cupped palms of his hands as an other pitch black wave of dread washes through him once more. „This is really fucking bad, oh God.“

„Well it is the only way to help you, I’m sure. Since neither of us has the money to send you to a therapist, this is the only way. You can quote that, this theory is 100% Lindsey–certified. Totally believable and legit.“ She rests a hand on Gerard’s back, mocking fake sympathy.

„Why again is it necessary for me to get rid of my fear of needles? It’s not like it does anything bad to me or others, it’s just there. I don’t want tattoos, I’ll never donate blood since my blood type is like, not rare at all and I’m not planning on offering my blood for some weird virgin sacrifice. So what is hindering me from just bursting out this room and running the fuck away from here?“

„The fact that you can’t run to save your life?“ Lindsey bursts out into an other fit of laughter that, even though he really doesn’t want to, has Gerard grinning too.

„Nah, it’s complex, man.“ Lindsey says mysteriously and Gerard sighs. The reason is going to be the most shallow thing ever.

„To be honest, I just can't stand you flinching and groaning every time watch Grey’s Anatomy, dude. Also it’s kind of my experiment. If I write a biography later I can tell how determined and how much of an adventurer I have always been, you know?“ She smiles sweetly and Gerard sighs deeply. His knees are increasingly becoming incredibly wobbly with just the thought of the forthcoming process of his best friend being pierced by a needle three thousand plus times per minute- No thank you. 

„i know it was something about your idealistic, romanticized doctor show. You are so egoistical, oh my God.“

„You still love me.“ Lindsey smiles triumphantly.

„Oh, shut up.“

The door opens again and Frank, who has rolled up the sleeves of his plain black shirt and is holding a box of beige sanitary latex gloves enters the room, running a hand through his hair.

God those tattoos. Like inky, black ornaments crawling from his fingertips all over both of his arms and into his shirt and peeking out of his collar again, sneaking up his neck. Gerard almost forgets about what is awaiting him as he allows himself to marvel at their beauty.

„Okay, if you would be so kind to lie down onto the table…“ Frank begins as he simultaneously pulls out single packaged needles and other sharp, dangerously looking utensils that leave Gerard’s mind reeling. 

Without Gerard’s body quite noticing, his heartbeat starts to accelerate as Frank washes his hands and pulls on the gloves and grabs a cotton wad to start disinfecting the inside of Lindsey’s right forearm. There is a flash and he starts shaving away a stray hair here and there.

The glint of the razor causes Gerard to involuntarily jerk in his seat. 

Shit, this is not going well, at all. He is so focussed on diverting his mind on anything else but needles and razors and sharp metal objects that he doesn’t notice himself holding his breath for way too long.

Frank’s smooth voice is only vaguely audible to him, a muffled buzz in the background, as if it was blocked by semi functioning ear buds. He’s applying a thin sheet with Lindsey’s motive on her arm and peels it off again, but suddenly all Gerard can focus on is the dreading rip of foil that comes with opening the package containing several needles, exposing the dangerously polished metal in the cold, xenon tube embedded into the ceiling.

Gerard heart starts pounding in his ears, loud, almost drowning out everything else. His palms start to sweat as Frank educates Lindsey about the sterilization process and slowly, agonizingly, screws on the needle. It feels like time is being warped in itself, jumping from proceeding in slow motion to going mind-jarringly fast, twisting wickedly at the edges.

The ringing of the tattoo gun seems to pierce every inch of Gerard’s body as Frank turns it on. His heart is suddenly pounding in his chest, hard, fast, so violently he thinks he’s going into cardiac arrest, and shit, that needle is horrifyingly close to Lindsey’s skin, oh God, it is actually touching her, digging into the pristine, white skin, piercing it, tearing through it–

Before Gerard can experience anything else, sizzling, white dots are clouding his vision, increasing in number and becoming bigger and bigger until they are completely blocking out his field of view. The world seems to slip away and out of his control for a second, alternating between him being in control and it tricking his senses.

Sensation after sensation starts to increase in vibrancy and suddenly completely die away and then, everything goes black.


	2. /2/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, I'm back with Chapter two, my 1am spelling is still giving me shivers (If I missed any typos, I'm terribly sorry) and I'm still using way too much commas.
> 
> Enjoy!

„Gee? Wake the fuck up.“ Lindsey’s voice cuts through the heavy silence in Gerard’s bedroom. Or at least that’s where he hopes he is. To be honest, he has no fucking clue at first.

„I hope I am in my fucking room.“ Gerard moans as a wave of headache pain smacks him straight into his unwashed, gross feeling face. He feels like utter shit and he thinks he can kind of taste the remains of… blood? on his tongue.

Oh fuck.

Oh Fuck.

„Oh fuck!“ He almost shouts and fists his hands in his stringy hair. He immediately dives under the secure shade of his blankets and pulls his knees to his chest, eyes wide with panic and disbelief. 

„Ok, that yesterday didn’t happen, oh my God I’m cringing so hard right now, no, no, it didn’t happen, you have absolutely no reason to cringe at yourself, Gerard, because, hah, guess what, it didn’t even happen, it isn’t rea–

„Jesus, would you just shut up for one damn second.“ Lindsey groans and playfully swats Gerard’s blanket covered leg. „Are you okay?“

Gerard groans. „My head hurts like a bitch, but aside from the inevitable damage the guilt and cringe eating away at my insides will do to my already shitty enough bodily condition in the next few years, the longevity of my life span is debatable.“

Lindsey rolls her eyes. „Well that is heartwarming. Anyway, today is Monday, that’s why I’ve cricked my neck on your ratty cough last night, looking after my favorite little mess so he’ll get to work on time. I’m not on shift today, so I can join you and keep you distracted from ‚the cringe and guilt‘.“

„Don’t mention it, it didn’t happen!“ Gerard shrieks, pressing his palms into his eye sockets and swinging his legs over the side of his bed. 

„Whatever you say, tough guy.“ Lindsey smiles affectionately.

He sighs dramatically and throws an arm over his eyes, just letting his body sink into the too hard mattress as his will to live decreases by the second. He tongues at the inside of his mouth absent-mindedly and cautiously lets yesterday’s events replay inside his head. He remembers everything just fine, absolutely not furiously trying not to blush when he thinks about Frank, and absolutely starting to panic as his memories start to get blurry around the time when Lindsey started getting tattooed…

Oh no.

„How the hell did I get home.“ Gerard asks without emotion, just blankly staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t quite know how to feel, relieved that he is actually at home and not in some ditch (although Lindsey would never let that happen) or creeped out about how he got from the tattoo parlor to his apartment.

„Um, you woke up pretty quickly and when Frank asked you if he should call an ambulance you said you’d rather die than visit a hospital and then you declared you’d take a nap and promptly passed out again.“ Lindsey shrugs. „So we left you alone and woke you up afterwards. You were kind of dopey when I got you home, maybe that’s why you don't remember.“ She giggles into her hand at something that Gerard just knows is him being a stupid, clumsy dork. „It was fun though.“

„I hope you didn’t film me like the last time and send it to Mikey, because him having even more blackmail on me is not going to happen.“

„The only thing that is gonna happen in fact right now is you taking a shower. You reek.“ She sing-songs.

„I wanna see you smelling all dandelions and violets and shit after puking and passing out stone cold in a fucking tattoo parlor.“ Gerard mumbles as he selects some semi-clean appearing articles of clothing from the floor with a weary sigh.

„Oh, you see, I, in fact, do, because I possess the magical 24/7-nice-odor-power of a girl.“

„Well in that case I should possess it too, to like, at least 50%, but no, nothing great ever happens to me.“

„Maybe God hates you.“ Lindsey muses as she ushers him out of his room.

„Well that would explain at least ninety percent of my life.“

 

[†]

 

„Lindsey, why the fuck is there a cut on my eyebrow that is fucking huge?“ Lindsey hears Gerard practically scream from the bathroom. 

„Oh almighty Lord and Savior, please lend me strength.“ Lindsey sighs and walks up to the bathroom with slow, shuffling steps. „Um.“

„Well?“ She has to stifle a giggle when Gerard’s voice gets that overly dramatic accelerated pitch that comes with him being stressed. She can picture him on the other side of the door, in front of the mirror, still dripping water and gingerly touching his brow and cheekbone with concernedly pursed lips. The brow and cheekbone she knows have a quite deep, gash demolishing his pale skin.

„You…“ She tries to come up with a stupid lie that he might actually believe to not make the situation even worse, but then again she’s never been good at lying. „You kinda hit your head really hard when you blacked out? Think you split it open on the table or something. Frank dressed the wound.“

Gerard whimpers. „This keeps getting worse and worse.“ He’s quiet for a few moments. 

„How much.“

„What?“

„How much did it bleed.“

„Uh.“ Lindsey now can’t help but laugh, this is just too funny. „Enough to let Frank let some really muscular blond guy with kind of the asshole vibe lead me out so he could mop up?“

„Well, that’s my cue to turn on the water so hot it burns away my face. Hopefully Frank won’t recognize me that way. If I ever see him again, that is. Fact is that I’m never going to walk down that damn street again.“

„We’ll pick up some cream for it, how does that sound?“ Lindsey asks through the wood tentatively.

„Better as my future, that’s for sure.“

 

[†]

 

Besides him hating the entire word and being very passionate about voicing said hate, Gerard really loves the record store he works for currently. 

Of course, it is nowhere as good as the comic store he used to work in, but he quickly quit the job when he broke up with Bert, knowing the asshole would check up on the place to find him or something, fucking creepy stalker asshole. 

His work is pretty damn easy too, he only has to manage the cash register for about half a day and the other few hours consist of him making sure all the CD’s are in their appropriate racks, make sure that the snotty, spoilt kids don’t touch absolutely everything with their grabby hands (his favorite part) and that shady looking teenagers with studded belts and excessive eyeliner don’t try to steal anything (not so his favorite part).

Time usually flies by when Lindsey decides to accompany him, and she’ll do all sorts of dumb, semi-allowed shit to make him smile or hide behind the shelves to pretend he doesn’t know her and he is not, in anyway, even remotely associable with the crazy, pigtailed girl furiously playing air-bass to Soundgarden. 

Lindsey especially loves educating people on what good music is. In particular people checking out the pop boy band section have learned to fear her, she is already known for cornering girls to remind them that Ariana Grande is, in fact, an arrogant bitch and they shouldn’t aspire to be like her and should instead check out the talented boys from Twenty One Pilots if they already had to listen to pop music.

Not to mention her always trying (and to Gerard’s dismay, succeeding) to talk old, fragile grandmas into buying metal core Cd’s they would furiously return days later, asking Gerard to passing on a complaint to the shop owner with murderous glints in their eyes that he swears are each taking at least a year of his lifespan.

It’s a fucking riot every time.

An other thing Gerard loves about the job is that, no matter how many people only come in for popular radio music, there sure are a few customers that apparently still value the good and influential kind. These customers also tend to visit at the later of hours which means Gerard has the possibility to wrap them into small, passionate conversations about music tastes, instruments, vocal ranges and oh so often about the sheer beauty that is David Bowie. 

It’s different than the comic store, yeah. But it definitely isn’t bad.

Today, the entire day is uneventful as it hasn’t been in a long time. 

Lindsey has spent the first hour running back and forth between Starbuck’s and the record store to provide herself and Gee, who has been constantly dozing off in his seat, with over priced guilty pleasure coffee. Once he has indulged into the heaven that is double cream caramel latte or whatever the fuck it is called, work progresses a lot easier and before the two know it, it is half past six, meaning Gerard only has half an hour to go.

Looking forward to a cozy evening full of blankets and spiked hot chocolate, curled up in Lindsey’s lap and watching reruns of Twilight Zone or Tales from the Darkside while maybe or maybe not getting wasted, he takes great pleasure in stretching his arms above his head, relishing the feeling of the joints in his back popping and creaking.

„Lookie here, one last stray customer.“ Lindsey munches around a caramel filled doughnut as she props up her feet onto the counter. 

Gerard makes sure to quickly push them off for what seems like the thirtieth time in the last four hours, his boss will be less than delighted and more than glad to have a reason for firing the shit out of his broke ass if he finds out Lindsey’s studded boots leave as much as a pinprick in the ‚wood‘. 

Seriously, what does the guy expect, the probably cheap fake compress wood isn’t even painted properly, it’s fucking ridiculous.

„Mmh, let’s hope they don’t stay too long, I really want to finish up quickly today.“ Gerard sighs and runs a hand through his hair. „Are you’re friends coming over tonight or is it just the two of us?“

„Meh, Jimmy and Kitty gotta set some stuff up for our gig tomorrow and Steve’s… I don’t even know in the slightest what he is up to, to be honest. Pete’s coming though. And guess what?“ She tries to toss a crumpled paper ball into the trash bin but of course misses by just an inch. „Mikey’s coming too. He told me he’d pop by as well.“

Gerard’s eyes light up in what probably comes across pretty desperate, so he regains his facial composure and rearranges his expression into his usual, indifferent scowl. 

„And he tells you first instead of me, his actual fucking brother? I can’t believe this prick, seriously.“ Gerard chuckles to himself fondly and gets out his phone to send a few rant messages to Mikey to complain to him about him being a terrible brother. 

Gerard’s a dramatic dude, so just let him unnecessarily complain about everything and everyone in the sole purpose of it being just for the fun of it.

Lindsey giggles and licks her fingers clean one by one. „Oh shut up, Mikey is a lovely little child. He has to be protected at all costs.“

„Well that is true.“ Gerard chuckles and rests his thick rimmed glasses on top of his head. He prefers contacts but he just couldn’t move the skin around his eye because of his fucked up face. „Poor guy would be dead if it wasn’t for us constantly taking care of him. I literally don’t know anyone who is nearly as reckless as him.“

They just hang out next to each other in comfortable silence until Lindsey decides to get her bag and coat from the room in the back to get ready to leave. Gerard doodles away a little into his sketchbook, trying to come up with the one or other original idea, his black hair falling into his eyes. 

He really needs a haircut. However, he has no idea where he is going to pull the money from, so ‚2004–super–edgy–emo–look‘ it is for at least an other month.

„Um, excuse me?“ A small, male voice rips Gerard out of his artsy trance and the tip of his red pencil snaps with the surprised twitch of his hand. Fuck.

Sighing a little and just the slightest bit annoyed, Gerard looks up through his frizzy bangs and suppresses a horrified scream that frankly still comes out as a strangled, unappetizing gurgle in the back of his throat which, subsequently, makes him choke on his spit.

Fuck. 

Seriously, fuck.

Gerard stares. Frank stares back. 

Gerard is embarrassed beyond all levels. Frank looks… uncomfortable as fuck.

Frank is still the epitome of beauty and perfection, as always, eyes incredibly round and bright with dark lashes that are thick as hell, nose just as cute as he remembers.  
And Gerard wants to die.

He coughs. 

Straightens the collar of his uniform. 

Coughs again. 

Runs a hand through his hair. 

Fixes his collar again. 

Shit, he is way too awkward for this. 

„Um, I– Okay, listen, about yesterday…“ 

Gerard’s palms start to sweat, guilt and embarrassment start gnawing away at his brain again. Great. „Fuck, I- Uh… I just wanted to– Look, what happened yesterday, uh, I just wanted to, um… I’m… sorry?“ 

All Gerard wishes for now is for the ground to open up and swallow him whole and transport him under the earth’s crust so that his body is burned to the dust by the magma and is just… gone.

Frank blinks, slowly, once, twice, emerald eyes widening slightly as he lifts a hand littered with dark, beautiful tattoos and waves it in a way that is too graceful for his own good. 

„Dude, seriously, it’s okay, don’t worry.“ He pulls a sympathetic face, button nose scrunching up and lip ring flashing in the cheap neon lightning illuminating the store. His cheeks are dusted with just the slightest hint of freckles and his cheeks dimple in the most adorable way and he wears his watch on the inside of his wrist like some kind of dweeb and–

Gerard is brain dead again. Fuck himself for being so ridiculously attracted to the guy he practically bled out and passed out in front of the day before. 

So he just presses his lips together into a thin line and nods curtly. Frank pulls out a vinyl from under his arm where he had clamped it and carefully lays it onto the counter with his oh so gorgeous hands. Seriously, Gerard has to be careful that this isn’t going to turn into some weird kink. 

„Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness?“ He almost smiles instead. Almost. Even though he is still caught in the endless cycle of self hatred, good music taste always brightens his day. Always.

„Oh yeah, I haven’t come around to buying it in all those years, for some reason.“ Frank says hastily and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. His gaze is flickering from the counter to the exit rapidly and he is fidgeting with the couple rings he is wearing today.

„I saw The Smashing Pumpkins once.“ Gerard blurts suddenly and Frank perks up, locking their eyes, fuck his they are so pretty. „Back when I was a teen.“

„Dude.“ Frank breathes, eyes wide and curious. „That’s just fucking rad. I remember not being able to go ‘cause I spent all my money on weed.“ He giggles, fucking giggles and covers his mouth, all awkward and high pitched and breathy, and Gerard has to restrain himself from not fainting behind the cash register then and there. Again.

So he just allows an extremely restrained smile to creep onto his face and scans the vinyl. He confirms the purchase and pulls out a plastic bag from under the counter, prying it open in one, not as fluid as usual motion. 

„Oh I’ll just carry it, a plastic bag isn’t necessary.“ Frank rushes, nearly lunging over the counter, and instinctively covers Gerard’s hand to prevent him from putting it into the bag. As if both of them had been struck by lightning, they immediately jerk their hands away, Gerard’s heart beating too fast to breathe properly and Frank awkwardly cradling his wrist to his chest, pink cheeked and confused. 

„You know, nature and stuff…“ Still blushing with embarrassment as he hurriedly grabs the vinyl, drops fifty dollars onto the counter and just fucking leaves, tripping over the threshold in front of the sliding doors. 

And leaving a confused as fuck Gerard behind. The dude didn’t even want his change back.

The door to the rooms in the back closes with an exhausted creak. „What the hell was that.“ Lindsey slaps his back and Gerard flinches skittishly, dropping the bill Frank left. Cursing, he dives under the counter to quickly snatch and sort it into the cash register so he can finally, finally, get out of here and just return home and wallow in self pity.

„I didn’t know Frank comes here from time to time?“ She muses, propping up her elbows onto the counter to rest her head in her hands. „What a shame he left so quickly, really, I would have loved to thank him for the fucking bad ass tattoo.“

„Yeah well, what a shame.“ Gerard sighs sarcastically as he locks the cash register up. 

Then he remembers. „Shit, I never asked you about the tattoo!“ He gasps and nudges her forearm carefully but excitedly, considerate of not hurting her. „How did it turn out?“

A wide smile creepy across Lindsey’s features and she proudly rolls up the sleeve of her weird flowery cardigan. The tattoo is stark black against her porcelain skin, the excessive ink and other… gross fluids smudging the actual work beneath the thin transparent layer she had probably reapplied sometime before tearing Gerard out of bed, but it’s fucking rad, in his opinion. 

It consists of minimalistic, thick black outlines of a bubbly number 13, a simple, four leaf clover and the silhouette of a black cat with arched back inked over a star, and as far as Gerard can tell, it is pretty well done.

„Well at least I didn’t lower the quality of it.“ Gerard sticks out his tongue. „It’s amazing, Linds.“ The smile he gets in return considerably brightens his day.

He pops his back as he lifts himself out of the comfy swivel chair to shoo Lindsey away so he can finally get out of the disgustingly stiff work uniform and get out of this stuffy, exhausting shop already. 

Lindsey eyes him critically before she eases herself away from the counter as well and a few minutes later, they are lazily walking down the street to his apartment, Lindsey’s arm locked with Gerard’s as always. 

 

[†]

 

Despite it having been incredibly hot and humid the entire day, the evening air is chilly and even uncomfortably cold when the wind blows a little to hard. Screw Jersey weather, seriously, Gerard thinks as they climb the few stairs leading up to his apartment complex and a couple of raindrops drip onto the lenses of his glasses. 

Again, Gerard has to suppress a horrified yelp forcing it’s way through his trachea and out of his mouth when he spots a dark silhouette lurking in front of his door, hunched over, dangerous and hooded and all. 

„Calm down, Gee, it’s only me.“ The silhouette grins and Gerard really wants to slap the satisfied smirk off of Pete’s stupid face. 

Seriously, someone give him a fucking break for one god dammed day, thank you. If this goes on, Gerard will be dead by the fragile age of thirty due to severe heart damage or something.

„What the fucking hell are you doing in front of my apartment all by yourself, pretending to be intimidating and shit.“ Gerard demands as he — of course without trying to help Pete up because that bastard doesn’t deserve any kind of physical help in the slightest — tries to find the keyhole in the flickering light of the cheap broken street lamp that barely does anything to illuminate their surroundings. 

If Gerard didn’t know better, this could effortlessly be the perfect setting for some dubious horror movie.

„Come in.“ He mutters as he pushes the door open, flicks the lights on and shrugs his coat off onto the floor. He’s not going to act all hospitable and cleanly around Pete, no thank you. Pete pushes past Gerard to gracelessly plop down into his beloved armchair and groan exhaustedly. 

„That is my armchair, Pete, back off.“ Lindsey nudges him with a beer bottle she retrieved from Gerard’s fridge. 

„Firstly, it is, actually, in fact, my armchair, secondly, put those shoes off of my drawings and thirdly, stop wallowing in drama.“ Gerard bickers and opens the fridge to grab a beer for himself. Why he keeps drinking it like it’s water he really doesn’t know, but it is cheap and gets him drunk.

„Oh my god, stop being so bitchy.“ A new, painfully familiar voice sounds from the door, but it is probably the first thing today that makes Gerard genuinely smile. „It sounds like you had the most awful day ever.“

Lindsey laughs evilly from the beanbag she has claimed for herself, but Gerard engulfs Mikey in a tight, lovingly, brotherly hug anyway. It’s awkward since Mikey has grown by a few inches again even though he is like nineteen or something and Gerard has to lean up quite a bit. „You have no idea, man. But wow, look at you, new hair cut and everything. Snazzy.“

„I don’t know if that was meant to be nice but I’ll take it as a compliment.“ Mikey grins happily and hands Gerard a worn out organic textile bag from some healthy looking brand he doesn’t recognize. „I brought all three seasons of Penny Dreadful. I know it’s not the shitty B-Horror Movie you usually go for, but I figured we could watch some quality TV for a change until we all pass out or something. If I have to watch Jersey Boys one more time I’m going to throw up, I’m looking at you, Linds.“ Lindsey barks out a high pitched, way too loud laughter.

„You’re the best.“ Gerard smiles back, but pulls a disgusted face when Mikey plops down in Pete’s lap and presses a sloppy kiss to his lips. „I’m taking my statement back. You are still as gross as ever.“

„Only because your love life equals zero doesn't mean you can shame us.“ Pete whines and tickles Mikey’s sides. „Our love is pure, our sex is great… why are you always so negative, Gerard.“

„Oh, watch me, I am the master of disapproval and grouchiness, I think I am entitled to shame everyone and everything existing on this planet.“

They watch a few episodes of the first Season in comfortable silence, only occasionally pointing out the sheer beauty that is Eva Green and Gerard quoting his favorite parts, causing Lindsey to roll her eyes playfully. He's a fucking nerd, okay, don’t judge him.

„So what’s up with the two of you? We haven’t gotten together in quite a while.“ Pete stretches and pushes Mikey out of his lap. „Go find yourself different seating, you’re too heavy.“

„Why thank you, ever loving boyfriend.“ Mikey huffs but just settles to join Lindsey in the beanbag, which is of course not meant for two. Gee’s apartment is probably the smallest and most messy, and still his friends choose to hang out at his instead of somewhere else. It’s the homely atmosphere of the cozy mess, he likes to think. 

„Mindless Self Indulgence is playing a few gigs the next week. Kitty and Jimmy are already setting stuff up for tomorrow.“ Lindsey smiles to herself proudly and Pete gasps.

„Wow, that’s fucking wild.“ He exclaims in awe, eyes wide. 

„I know, right?“ 

„How about the two of you?“ Gerard cuts in to prevent Lindsey from ranting on and on about her (admittedly kick ass) band, leading to the topic that Pete’s best friend Patrick refuses to sing so they can start a band themselves. 

Not that he minds hour long talks about Mindless Self Indulgence, he really doesn’t, but some brotherly stalking and investigation has to ensue on his part too for a change. It can’t always be Mikey who squeezes the juicy parts out of him, the tables can turn. „Anything exciting in your disgustingly perfect, kitschy lives?“

„One hundred percent Fun Times only.“ Mikey deadpans in an almost painfully ironic manner and Pete snorts. „That is not funny at all, Michael.“

„Don’t call me that, man.“ Mikey snorts and laces his fingers with Pete’s tattooed ones. „Anyhoo–

„Who the fuck uses Anyhoo in an un-ironic context.“ Gerard frowns and Lindsey slaps his arm, muttering something around the lines of him not being able to shut his fucking mouth for one second under her breath.

„Shut up, it’s better than ‚anyway‘, because it sounds like I am attempting a pun with my own fucking name and that is like a thousand times more lame than anyhoo.“

„Fair point.“

„Anyway, no pun intended, long story short, I had to tell Mom about Pete and I because we’re moving together and she knows there is no way I can afford living on my own, money-wise as well as, sadly, safety-wise.“

„Jesus, that is even more dangerous than the time you tried to take a portable heater with yourself into the bathtub.“

„Wait, do you mean me coming out or me moving in with Pete?“

„I don’t even care, choose one.“

„Fucking rude.“

„Am I the only one who is actually going to congratulate them? I apologize for Gerard being such a narrow-minded ass. How did she take it?“ Lindsey steers the conversation into a direction that actually makes sense instead of it just consisting of Way-Brother-Banter. She ruffles Mikey’s bleached hair fondly and Gerard’s mouth twitches upward when he sees him actually smile.

„Thanks, man. Oh, right. She, I quote: ‚doesn’t approve of my lifestyle, but at least she can hope for grandchildren from Gerard‘. I was so close to bursting out in a fit of hysterical laughter, you can’t imagine.“

„Well that’s just fucking peachy.“ Gerard groans. 

„I hope you didn’t mention the time Gerard threw up at the sight of a vagina in tenth grade.“ Lindsey giggles and Mikey chokes on his spit. 

„Can we please stop talking about my fear of the female genital, thank you. Also I’d love to actually witness what is happening in Penny Dreadful, so if the three of you dickheads would be so kind, thank you very much again.“

„Sensitive much?“ Pete laughs at the embarrassed blush spreading over Gerard’s cheeks. „Anything happened lately you want to tell us?“

„Um, no. Absolutely not. I can’t fathom why anyone would even remotely consider that.“

„We went to a tattoo parlor and he passed out and even hit his head so hard he fucking bled and to put icing on the cake is is also hopelessly crushing on the tattoo artist. That was yesterday, but guess what? The dude, ice cold, payed the record shop Gee works in a visit and it was super awkward.“

Now it is Gerard’s turn to choke on his spit, but the stripped down version sounds so dumb and is totally something that always happens to Gerard he can’t even be mad at Lindsey, to be honest. Still, just the memory of it is enough to make Gerard throw his head back and throw an arm over his eyes in frustration like the diva he is. 

„I am not… crushing on him. Where did you even get that idea.“ Is the only thing he weakly mumbles between two long groans, which earns him three disbelieving stares. „You know what, screw you all, we are finishing this episode and then the two of you are leaving.“ 

„You can’t just kick us out!“ Mikey protests and tackles Gerard from the side, leaping over Lindsey and almost spilling her beer in the process. Which wouldn’t be much of a problem to be honest, Gerard’s ratty carpet floor is littered with countless weird, questionable stains that haven’t really come out despite extensive efforts already anyway. No pun intended.

„Oh I can alright, remember who this apartment belongs to.“ Gerard wheezes as his back hits the ground. 

„More like this shithole, if you want my honest opinion.“ Mikey smiles down onto Gerard, who is successfully lying on his back with Mikey draped across his stomach in all his tall, toothpick glory. „We’ll leave if you tell us who the infamous mystery man is.“

„Never.“

„Oh come on, Gee, I deserve to know what my brother is up to. You know everything about me, why are you so fucking secretive all the time?“

Gerard groans again. Mikey is one persistent little shit. „Fine, now get off me, you’re heavy.“ Mikey pouts but releases his brother, climbing back into Pete’s lap, forcing a breath out of the short guy. „He’s called Frank and he’s a tattoo artist. You're not getting anything else.“

„Wait, Frank as in Frank Iero?“ Pete pipes up. 

„How the hell would I know his last name–

„Frank Anthony Iero, short guy, heavily tattooed, lip- and nose ring, ultra short, dark hair, green eyes?“ Pete stares at Gerard disbelievingly and Gerard stares at Pete horrifiedly. 

„Don’t fucking tell me you visit that tattoo shop regularly, please don’t.“

„Hate to break the news to you, bud, but I really really do. The poor dude, he was probably cleaning up after you the whole afternoon into the late night.“

„Okay before you try to make me feel even more miserable than I already have been feeling the last days, I think you two should leave.“ Lindsey rolls her eyes at Gerard who just huffs weakly in return.

„Yeah, Pete, let’s go. We can mull over the gossip on out own at yours.“ Mikey grins evilly and leans down to hug Lindsey goodbye. 

„See ya soon, I’ll be coming over more often since Pete lives nearby.“ Mikey hugs Gerard who leads the couple to the door and out into the chilly night air. 

„Well isn’t that just a delight.“ Gerard sighs but fists his hand in the short hair at the nape of Mikey’s head anyway, pressing their foreheads together. It’s been way too long since they’ve seen each other and even though Gerard would never admit it, both of them feed off each other’s presence, ideas and energy.

„Love you too, Gee.“

 

[†]

 

That night, Gerard doesn’t sleep well. 

It could have to do with Lindsey snoring away at the couch in the living room, the sound entirely unfiltered since he is too lazy to stand up and close his door. Seriously, she spends way too many nights at his apartment, he needs to tell her to go home from time to time. Not that he minds, though, he absolutely loves being around her, and if she wasn’t so adamant about cricking her back on his crappy sofa, he would love to feed off her body warmth in bed while she is right next to him. The thing is, he just doesn’t want her to feel like he needs her to be around him 24/7 and thus annoying her or something.

Which he knows is not something that will happen, Lindsey and him have been friends since he stumbled upon her setting fire to her geography test in the boys bathroom in high school, but still, anxiety is even more of a bitch than people claim karma to be. Because with Karma you at least always get what you deserve, she hunts you down only when you have it coming. Anxiety is backstabbing. Like the queen of backstabbing. He should sketch her out tomorrow morning, in a sleek red robe underneath a flat breastplate or something. Maybe with a secret, hidden dagger somewhere.

Back on track. 

The actual reason Gerard can’t fucking get a wink of sleep is because of a certain guy with an adorable grin, breathtaking eyes and gorgeous tattoos in combination of what Lindsey said earlier the night. 

It he crushing on Frank? 

‚No, you’re not, you’re cool as a cucumber around him’ His brain sneers at him sarcastically and Gerard sighs. Even his own body is ganging up against him, life is not fair. He tosses around onto his other side, as if it would do something to help his lack of tiredness, it’s not like he’s been trying that for the past two hours, not at all. 

His brain is on the brink of exploding from all the worries, fantasies and thoughts jumping and flickering through his head all at once, spinning and whirring. He might be crushing on Frank, okay, he can admit that. 

But. 

He still fainted and made him clean up after him. Which makes everything so awkward oh my God. He doesn’t even want to think about it, but the friendly reminder of yesterday’s events is happily throbbing away on his forehead, the fresh strips holding the wound together are itching on his skin.

Nope, he has to stop being all awkward right now. It happened and it is in the past, there is nothing he can do about it, at least not as long as they don’t get their asses off the ground and make some progress in researching time travel.

He looks at his ceiling instead, where Lindsey drunkly thought it was funny to arrange about fifty glow stars in dick-shape, that has been looming over Gerard’s sleeping body ever since. His brain has calmed down notably, but it is working slowly now, still revolving around the warm thought in the back of his head that is Frank.

After twenty three minutes of hard thinking about charming giggles, hazel eyes, scrunchy button noses, jet black tattoos stretching over jutting hipbones, feverish, inked hands pressing into every inch of his body and spit-slick, pierced lips– 

Woah.

Gerard sighs and presses his hands into his eye sockets and rolls onto his back in defeat, crossing his legs. He jumps to Lindsey rustling with the spare blanket on the sofa and mumbling „Yes, alligators.“ into her pillow before she continues snoring softly again.

Why does this always happen to him. 

He didn’t ask for this.

And since he didn’t ask for this, he is going to get over it, starting tomorrow. He doesn’t need love, he doesn’t need anyone, and most of all, he doesn’t need Frank.

Yeah, this is going to go so hilariously bad.


	3. /3/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so the last chapter started off with Gerard waking up too, I gotta change that in the future. If not, I'm gonna make it a constant thing and rename this fic 'the lamest piece of shit on ao3'
> 
> Also I kind of want to shoot myself in the foot bc I mentioned Twenty One Pilots in the last chapter even though I kind of did want them to have a short appearance in this fic..
> 
> SIGH
> 
> Anyway I didn't know if I wanted to upload this today or tomorrow, but I'm attending a really boring family get-together in a few hours and I need some EXCITE in my life. 
> 
> K bye, don't mind my pointless ranting, enjoy you nerds!!!

„Wake up, sleepyhead.“

„I’m so tired, kill me please.“

„That’s not funny.“

„Do I ever attempt to be funny? No. Now let me sleep.“

„But Ray’s coming over in like, thirty. Have some coffee, take a shower, vamos, my child.“

„What.“

„Yeah, we wanted to go to the park, remember? It’s your day off? No art school, no jobbing? Jesus, you always talk about Mikey being the one that isn't able to live on his own, but look at you, not capable of keeping track of the simplest plans you’ve made.“

Gerard’s blood runs cold. He totally forgot, oh my God.

He hastily but still sleep-deprivedly grabs the digital alarm next to his bed and jolts out of the secure warmth of his covers. Not a good idea considering a headache is beginning to split his brain apart like Moses did with the sea. The sudden pain almost lets him topple over and stumble into the doorframe where he groans pitifully and stays for a few seconds to just regain himself with his eyes screwed shut.

„Let me bring you an aspirin and some coffee. Geez, you can never function without, can you.“ Lindsey places a sympathetic hand on his back and kisses his shoulder, heading off into the kitchen that is in no way clean and tidied up, but oh well. She knows him well enough to not get on his back with cleanliness.

A heavenly coffee, life saving aspirin, a warm shower and two attempts at picking something out to wear – that isn’t a danger to public eye – later, Gerard and Lindsey laze around in the living room, Gerard absent-mindedly sketching made up tattoos onto a drawing of Lindsey’s legs while she zaps through MTV (the good kind of MTV, with rock and metal, not the radio one with shitty Ariana Grande) and lets out a happy noise when Avenge Sevenfold comes on. 

Just about when the chorus is to kick in, the doorbell rings. Gerard, now a bit more awake, pretends to be annoyed at having to stand up but really he’s fucking hyped to see Ray after such a long time. 

„Man, Gee, it’s awesome seeing you again!“ He engulfs Gerard in his typical bear hug, having to lean down since he’s enormously tall and (as always) ends up nearly choking him with his gigantic fro. Nothing Gerard isn't used to, though, there have been incidents where Ray has accidentally nearly suffocated people because of his hair.

He smiles into Ray’s shoulder fondly and pushes him away a little, the guy really doesn’t know when he is starting to crush people with his logs for arms. Also, the cut on his eyebrow begins to throb rather painfully.

And on cue Ray concernedly brings a hand to ghost over his cheek, warm, brown eyes lingering on the slightly irritated skin on Gerard’s brow bone. „Oh my God, what did you do this time?“ His voice is so full of concern Gerard kind of feels bad even though he absolutely has no reason too.

„It’s a long story, man.“ He dismissively waves his hand and Ray has enough tact to let it drop. 

The tall afro man aims to walk into the living room, where he is assaulted by a wild Lindsey throwing her arms around his neck rather powerfully, almost knocking him over in the process. Sure, Ray is a fucking strong guy, but never under estimate Lindsey’s tackle skills. „How’s the film career going, dude?“ She smiles brightly and accompanies Gerard, who is kind of awkwardly standing in the corner to give the two space, so that he doesn’t feel excluded or something. 

„Oh, jeez, we have so much to catch up on.“ Ray sighs and smiles at the energetic nods of head he receives from his two best friends.

„Enough sentimentality, lets goooo.“ Lindsey kicks open the door, Gerard’s car keys dangling from her finger. „The park is waiting!“ She hilariously badly dances to the run down thing and slams the door shut, turning on some hardcore band Gerard has never heard of, furiously drumming onto the worn off steering wheel. „Ugh I hope car doesn’t break down with that enthusiasm.“ Gerard groans rubs his eyes.

„Glad to know the two of you are still the same.“ Ray smiles fondly and Gerard pats a hand on his broad shoulder. 

„Same though, same.“

 

[†]

 

The park they always visit is actually hellishly dangerous, several corpses of both women and men have been found in the pond over the years, but that of course doesn't hold the residents back from enjoying the rare and mediocrely warming rays of sun peeking through the occasional gap in the clouds and take a walk, let their children play and have picnics.

As soon as Gerard steps outside, the sun burns a felt hole into his precious retina and his sustaining head ache doubles up again. He curses the sun god Ra for abandoning him in this enervating moment in his life. What a bitch. 

There is a reason he has always been, and still is, a pale, goth-y basement kid.

The three of them settle down on their usual crappy and abused table tennis table (a/n: this just became my favorite word omg), Lindsey sitting cross legged next to Gerard immediately, who also immediately bums off a smoke from her, lighting it and taking a long, greedy drag, fingers twitching.

Ray joins them as well and eyes them with a fond, curious look. „You two are attached at the hip as always, aren’t you.“ He sets down some tupperware which contains sliced fruit and pastries like the huge, caring mom he is. Gerard doesn't mind though, on the contrary, he has been fucking starving. 

Ray is like, the ultimate mom friend. Find Gerard a better one and he’ll arrange a contest or something, consisting of Ray and the other person competing in like, mom qualities. 

„Well, yeah, it’s almost sad.“ Lindsey giggles and picks a leaf out of Ray’s hair. „How’s Christa doing? Still lovey-dovey as always?“ She asks and causes Ray to fall into an almost endless rant about how much he is in love. 

Gerard smiles to himself. Ray’s eyes are sparkling and seem to be vibrating with a lot more positivity than they have been the last time they hung out, likable laugh lines softening his gaze and dark lashes curving upwards full of life. 

Apparently love does transform a person, he thinks to himself. 

He could have noticed it when constantly hanging around with Mikey, but the guy will always be the hellishly annoying, bitchy brat to Gerard he has been his entire life, so he’s a little biased on that one. 

Anyway despite there being way too much love in the air for his liking, Gerard has no desire to catch up, he can go without love, thank you very much. He has already resigned himself with the fact that he is going to be alone for a very, very long time.

They catch up pretty quickly, Ray briefly talking about his pretty rad film career and how guitars are still the blood in his veins before immediately asking Lindsey about Mindless Self Indulgence and the rest of the crew and being really inquire-y about how art school is working out for Gerard. 

It’s not long before Gerard kind of zones out like he always does as he spots a guy walking down the street with a knee length black coat that is so perfectly tailored to flatter his body that it leaves Gerard’s fingertips itching for some pen and paper and draw a few characters around it. 

Ah, shit, did he just hear his name being dropped in Lindsey’s and Ray’s conversation? Gotta catch upon that, can’t have his friends talk shit about him behind his back. Or more like, right in front of him but he has the tendency to just not pay attention when his mind wanders off into it’s own, little, secretive world.

„What?“ He squints his eyes at them skeptically, pursing his lips as he takes a bite of a cleanly cut nectarine, sending a telepathic thank you in Ray’s direction. 

Lindsey smiles innocently and Ray snickers. „Oh, we were just talking.“ She is leaning up against him, using his huge body as some sort of chair back. Dear God, how Gerard hates it when they gang up on him. 

„Oh my God, you just totally told him, didn’t you.“ Gerard sighs and lets the afternoon warmth buzz onto the back of his eyelids, refusing to look at anyone, even if that means to pretend-bask in the sun that he actually loathes. 

This level of public humiliation should be highly illegal.

„So this Frank guy, eh?“ Ray smiles widely, kindly and Gerard groans. This is so fucking embarrassing. He can’t even be mad at Ray though, because you just can't be mad at Ray. It’s just not a thing that happens in this transcendence we happen to dwell in.

„There is absolutely totally dead-seriously nothing going on, don’t believe a single thing this shady witch tells you.“ Gerard tries to say as seriously as possible, but Lindsey’s snort and Ray’s bushy eyebrow raise make his words sound at least three thousand times more unbelievable. 

„Well, anyway, I don’t think the ‚fight Gee’s fear of needles‘ plan isn’t going well enough yet, so I thought about getting something new tattooed next week.“ Lindsey says casually and Gerard chokes on the breath he was inhaling.

„You’re not serious.“ He wheezes and Lindsey laughs evilly.

„Of course I’m serious, dummy. If I want to pull off a plan, I am going to execute that plan, you know how it is. I won’t stop until your condition has at least fucking improved, and– oh sweet Jesus.“

Before Gerard can register it, Lindsey’s finger gloved hand shoots into the air and she is waving frantically while shouting „FRANK!“ in the most loudest and obnoxious way possible – Aaaand there goes his heartbeat, from zero to hundred and sixty and back to vampiric levels again. 

Because across the park, surrounded by at least ten yipping, hyperactive dogs, is no one else than Frank fucking Iero, looking almost the same as yesterday with his raven hair, piercings and tattoos. His head snaps up at Lindsey’s shout and his chin perks up as he spots the three of them lazing around at the table tennis table (a/n: this word is FIRE). 

„I can’t believe you just called out for him to come to sit with us.“ Gerard hisses between his in the meantime chattering teeth and buries his hands in his hoodie pocket. God, this is so embarrassing. What if Frank looks at him weirdly? What if he is still mad? 

Wait, who is he kidding, he made a mess out of his studio and passed out on top of that, of course he is pissed as hell. Well isn’t this just great. 

„Oh, hi, Lindsey!“ Frank beams enthusiastically as he disentangles one hand from the heap of leashes he is clutching so hard his knuckles are white where his pretty, tattooed skin peeks out of his fingerless gloves. His eyes are just as fucking forest green as Gerard has them burned into his memory and his slightly freckled cheeks are tinged pink from the exertion of walking ten plus dogs (okay, maybe just four) at the same time, and his lip and nose ring glitter in the sun and fuck, Gerard is totally god fucking screwed.

So much for bathing in all that fake confidence yesterday, he is relapsing so hard right now.

„Frank, man! What a surprise to see you here!“ She grins widely and hugs him around the side so his dogs don’t run away or go bat shit crazy. Despite Lindsey being way too touchy feely with people she barely knows, Frank seems to enjoy the embrace, or at least doesn’t seem like he’d rather jump on that huge ass dog’s back and ride away on it as fast as he can.

Frank’s eyes flick onto Gerard who flinches visibly, but the short guy just wiggles his fingers at him in a completely adorable yet awkward as fuck way and shakes Ray’s hand as they introduce themselves. 

„So you walking your dogs?“ Lindsey asks and leans forward to pet a extraordinarily beautiful German Shepherd who licks her palm eagerly. „Yeah.“ Frank’s face lights up. „They are all my beauties.“ Lindsey’s mouth twists into an impressed expression as she scratches a smaller, white one that always has it’s tongue stuck out weirdly. „Sick.“

Frank bites the inside of his cheek shyly, as if he is just about to fall into a long rant about his dogs and bore everyone to death with, but he just nods in confirmation instead and picks up an other one, KRAUEN it between it’s ears lovingly, letting it bite his finger with blunt teeth. There is an awkward silence.

„So you’re just… hanging out here?“ He asks awkwardly, looking as out of place as Gerard feels. 

Lindsey nods enthusiastically. „Yeah, it’s kind of a thing we do. I have never seen you around though?“

„Yeah, I usually come very early or just walk them down the street. Tattoo artists got weird schedules sometimes, it’s hard to find a time where I can take them out as long as they deserve.“ Frank nods enthusiastically and grins that perfect, slightly lopsided grin again that makes his eyes crinkle and button nose scrunch up, his hair whipping around his still pink cheeks as the wind catches in it.

They enjoy the background buzz of the few people milling across the grass planes with children, partners or pets in silence, it not feeling too awkward, Lindsey absent-mindedly drumming against her crossed thighs, Ray gazing into the distance, probably inspecting people or something and Gerard… well Gerard tries to look anywhere but at Frank, and most importantly he tries to repress that happy little flutter in his chest when Frank leans down to scratch and coo at a smaller dog quietly, beautiful, tattooed fingers dancing over the ecstatic animal’s soft stomach.

He tears his gaze away quickly though, only to stare right into Lindsey’s smug, knowing one, eyes already glinting mischievously with what is probably an idea that might actually give Gerard a heart attack. 

„So, Frank, before we gotta get going…“ She chirps as she suddenly jumps off the table and pulls a confused as hell Ray with her, since, you know, they actually didn't want to leave just yet. Frank looks like he’s having a hart time to actually stop petting his dog and paying attention to Lindsey. This isn't going to end well, oh fucking boy. „Are you free this weekend?“

„Um.“ He stands up, dusting off his knees and his eyes unfocus, following the trains of thought taking place in his head. „Yeah, I think so, why?“ He asks curiously, bundling the leashes in his hand again and flicking a lock away that has been tickling his forehead.

„I have this band, Mindless Self Indulgence, and we play some kick ass trash music, if I do say so.“ She giggles and Frank’s eyes widen. „And we’re playing a gig friday night, if you are interested in joining in with a couple of friends? It’ll be fun, I promise.“

„Dude, you play in Mindless Self Indulgence?“ Frank’s expression resembles the one of some nerdy kid being told that he’s won backstage passes for Comic Con to meet a resurrected from the dead Jack Kirby or something. „Man, your music is like, the most individual thing I have heard in the last six months. I would love to come.“

„So it’s settled then.“ Lindsey beams and claps her hands together excitedly. „Anyway, have a nice day, get back home safe and count your dogs regularly so you don’t lose one, adios!“

She drags Ray and Gerard with her and leaves a confused as hell Frank behind who Gerard gives a sympathetic look over his shoulder, because for laymen on topic of how to deal with Lindsey, it really is fucking exhausting. 

"What the actual fuck, Lindsey" Both Ray and Gerard blurt out as soon as Frank it out of ear-shot. She just skips ahead happily, wicked smile stretching over her face.

"I am so getting these two dorks together, just watch."

Gerard groans. "Why."

"Because the two of you are just so made for each other it physically hurts my eyes."

With all the groaning and sighing he has been doing lately, Gerard starts to feel like an old, grumpy man. "There's nothing that going to get you off that ridiculously stupid and completely non-realizable plan, is there?" He asks in a dead monotone.

"Absolutely not." 

"See Ray, this is what I have to deal with on a daily basis. There are upsides of you not directly living with us anymore."

"Haha, I can see that now."

 

[†]

 

For what feels like the twentieth time in the last thirty minutes, Frank sighs deeply and runs his hand through his freshly chopped hair, only to tug at the short stubble sticking out at the nape of his neck that is kind of new to the touch. Nerves often give him the unexplainable urge to rip fistful of it out, root by root. 100% health and normal behavior, hell yeah. 

He starts to repeatedly click his pen to some ‚Bouncing Souls’ song quietly pounding through the shitty speakers in the corner of the shop (his merit) until Patrick gently but determinedly brings down a hand over his to silence the unbelievably annoying sound. „Dude, please.“ 

Patrick leans over the counter and grabs Frank’s well used Stephen King novel for himself and plops down on the worn off but just as retro passing black leather couch with a content sigh, flipping ahead to the page he has bookmarked for himself with a dog ear. 

Why they both read from the same book only God knows, but it is kind of practical to do so to bridge the long waiting times when customers cancel an appointment or the day is inappropriately long, which, to be honest, it always is. They never have the desire to read at the same time anyway, since it is either Frank reading and Patrick minding his own business or Patrick reading and Frank annoying him with endless questions and pointless conversations.

The fedora wearing blonde pats the empty space next to him without looking up to Frank, inviting him to flop down and laze around as well.

It’s something Patrick magically does, an ability he weirdly possesses; always knowing what everyone is thinking and somehow telepathically feeling their thoughts and feelings. It’s fucking weird and creepy but paired up with Patrick’s I–catch–flies–in–a–napkin–and–let–them–free–instead–of–killing–them–personality everyone has kind of learned to accept and appreciate it.

Frank gladly accepts, he’s quite the sociable person who actually enjoys people’s company when he’s done annoying them.

„What’s up, man?“ Patrick asks into the yellowed and frayed pages, greenish blue eyes darting quickly from one inked line to the other. 

„If you mean my level of perspiration because of the fucking heat and the shitty, sputtering air condition, you are completely right, my friend.“ Frank groans as he throws himself down onto the couch next to his friend exhaustedly. 

He fans his face dramatically and props his feet up onto the low glass table, however he reconsiders immediately, Bob is not a shop owner to fuck with, hell leave you with broken bones and somehow get away with it, been there, done that, zero out of ten, would not recommend.

„So you are telling me that you have been all jittery and absorbed in thought and distracted the entire day for no reason?“ Patrick inquires with a friendly tug of his lips. His precise, trained fingers flick over to the next page with a minimal, soft rustle. 

Frank sighs. Why does it always have to be like this. „Um… yes.“

„You,“ Patrick huffs and his teeth are flashing in a slight grin now, the corners of his mouth leaving dents in his round cheeks, „are a horrible liar.“

„How so?“

„Do you really want a full blown psychological and behavioral explanation or would you rather just get whatever it is that’s troubling you off your chest? Either way, I don’t care, my next appointment is in two hours.“ Patrick drawls softly, giving Frank a sideway glance through his pale lashes for the first time they have settled down on the sofa.

Frank sighs again, in defeat. „Man, alright.“ His chewed down nails pluck at the become stretched, frayed holes of his eroded ripped skinny jeans, wondering if he should DIY-style cut a few new ones, because, you know, it’s punk rock. „It’s fucking weird though and a mess.“

„Well, nothing out of the ordinary then.“ Patrick flashes his teeth and turns an other page. Frank purses his lips, pouting, because he knows this is Patrick’s way of showing him that Frank has only about 50% of his attention. He will have to do better than just present some vague whining to get him hooked on his problems and actually jump onto the feelings-jam-waggon.  
„So…“ He starts, but draws the vowel out as long as he possibly can, rolling his pursed lips to create an annoying sound resembling the shitty wah-wah pedal he drunkly ordered online and is now chucked carelessly under his bed somewhere. Because, seriously, ‚this is really stupid Frank, Patrick has more important things to worry about and you‘re just being an incredibly, insufferable whiny bitch as always.‘ 

„There is this… person.“

Patrick’s face remains the same and he doesn’t even look up from his (Frank’s) book, but a pale eyebrow disappears in his hairline. That is a good sign. More like, that’s an extraordinary accomplishment if you try to pour out your soul to him. It’s like, getting noticed by your favorite person on Twitter.

Frank clears his throat and combs his chipped black fingernails though his knotty hair before they fly back to the fringed fabric by his inked knees again. „There is this… guy.“

Patrick’s thumb stops as he attempts to turn the page over once again and his, now, attentive eyes are on Frank again, who mentally high fives himself. There is nobody in this shop who can get Patrick’s attention as well and sneaky as he can without being the whiny bitch Brendon is or the help of the nazi authority-figure-vibe Bob constantly radiates.

„…Oh?“ Patrick even abandons the book and flips it shut to shuffle around on the couch so his body is facing Frank. Damn right did he do a perfect job, this is the best it will ever get. „I thought…“

Frank cringes and presses his palms into his eye sockets. „Let’s please not talk about the time where is drunkly swore Jamia turned me straight, okay? Those were dark times. Pitch fucking black. Darker than Satan’s– you know what, never mind.“ Patrick laughs and Frank tries to force the embarrassed flush away from his cheeks. „I mean, does this–“ He gestures to his piercings and punk-y haircut down to his maybe two notches too-tight jeans, „look one hundred percent straight to you?“

„To be honest, I never believed a word you said.“ Patrick laughs quietly and crosses his feet. „And why exactly is that so weird now?“ Patrick inquires with a curious raise of an eyebrow; not too forceful, always kind, always gentle, just Patrick. 

„I think he kind of hates me.“ 

„I would drop the usual ‚aww, I’m sure that’s not true‘ line, but, sadly, I am fairly certain there are plenty of reasons people could develop a raging hate against you.“ Patrick smirks and Frank pins him down with a what would be an annoyed stare if it wasn’t completely wobbly with a suppressed giggle tugging at his cheeks.

Patrick regains his posture. „Let’s try a more reasonable and professional approach, shall we. Why would you think he hates you?“

Frank prepares himself before inhaling deeply. „Okay, so first of all, he probably wasn't mad from the beginning, it has most likely developed in the last two days. I think he hates me because I am kind of acting all weird and awkward around him because I don’t know how to show him that I really don’t mind him bleeding all over the floor, it happens to the best of us, I mean, the dude has a freaking fear of needles, but I just can’t get that across, and then I get all weird and stupid and it might come across as the stupid assholish-punk-attitude that is also very much a thing I do and–

„You really have issues, jeez.“ Patrick sighs and rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, the bunched up skin dislocating his glasses a little. „Ever thought you could possibly, maybe, by any chance, be wrong about it?“

„Um… when am I ever wrong about something that concerns… people?“ Frank asks weakly and curses himself for inviting Patrick to begin to display his embarrassingly long list of human interaction failures.  
„Oh, I really don’t know, maybe the one time the girl visiting the parlor started to get really scared and you mistook it for interest in the equipment used for tattooing, resulting in presenting her a fifteen minute speech about how to angle the needle to hit the skin and how to avoid extreme pain that may make you pass out?“

„She was glancing at the gun so often I thought–

„How about the time that other girl was obviously hitting on you but you genuinely tried to get her set her up with Brendon and she just got more and more frustrated by the second and you were so oblivious about the whole situation even I was this close to backhanding you straight across the face then and there and shove the two of you together?“

„But she–

„Oh, and this is a good one. Remember the time you legitimately believed Pete and I would make a great couple so you and Brendon always tried to get us together alone somewhere? It was like you waited for us to just make out out of the blue and I would just start liking guys with the snap of a finger.“

„Oh, come on, for that one you can at least give Brendon 50% of the credit. I am not the only one who was on the Peterick ship, there were more people involved in the cult.“

„I’m not going to question that any further, but what I wanted to say is: you, Frank Anthony Iero Jr., tend to constantly be as oblivious and blind to your social environment as the dusty brick holding together the worn off wall on the other side of the street, so, maybe, this time, you are really just reading way to much into it? What if the guy is just too embarrassed to face you again after the mess he made and that is the reason he is acting so awkwardly? Maybe he thinks you absolutely hate him since he was the reason for all those hours of work he put you through? Think about it.“

Frank groans and throws his head back onto the couch, mouth hanging open. „Buuuuut.“ He whines and flails his arms around in an embarrassingly childish manner.

„Why do you even care that much?“ Patrick sighs and picks up the book again, his perfectly clean and manicured nails tapping along the pages rapidly to find where he left off. „You’re exceedingly good at the ‚no strings attached‘ thing, why not just leave him behind and get yourself a new one? Nothing you haven’t done before, no offense.“

„No offense to you, but you can’t actually offend me when stating something that isn’t remotely a lie or something I am not to 100% aware of.“ A giggle bubbles in his throat and now it’s Patrick’s turn to send an icy stare his way. „The thing is, we’re going out this freaking weekend. A friend of his, who is also a friend of mine, suggested me joining friends to see her band and I just… couldn’t say no, I guess? Some shitty ditch, at the main road, getting drunk afterwards, I have no idea. I don’t even want to think about how that is going to end, please, just stab me in the jugular with a piercing needle and make sure I bleed out, would you?“

Patrick sighs and pushes two fingers under the dark rim of his glasses to rub over his eyes wearily. „How the hell did you get yourself in that mess again? Seriously, you are so bad at life it almost isn’t funny anymore.“

„Oh, and should I mention the time I went to the record store yesterday? I would politely like you to fucking guess who the cashier was. Anyway, I lost about thirty bucks because I just wanted to rush out of the store as quickly as possible and just dropped a fifty onto the counter. Maybe you can tattoo my face until it is unrecognizable so I don’t have to face him again.“

Patrick throws back his head in stifled laughter and clutches his soft chest until the he doorbell rings and a lanky, pale dude enters the shop, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. Patrick takes it as a cue to abandon Frank and drop the book that actually counts as his belonging onto his crotch to welcome the customer, of course not without throwing a cheeky grin at Frank for good measure.

While Patrick is signing up the guy for an appointment in about ten minutes, Frank desperately tugs at his jet black hair. 

How the hell is going to get out of this mess alive? How the hell is he going to not make a complete fool out of himself?

He is so fucked. So utterly, royally, absolutely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else just open Pinterest or Tumblr (Or Google, old school n shiet) and search for pictures of any era Gerard / 2002 dreads-stoner Frank / No-Fro Ray and Triangle hair Mikeyway and legitimately feel better after like half an hour of just scrolling through them?
> 
> Because I totally do. 
> 
> Anyhoo, see ya in chap 4!


	4. /4/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this took me a whopping six plus days.

When Lindsey texts him the name of the basement Mindless Self Indulgence will be playing this evening, he is surprised to see it is the same creek he will be playing a show at with his own band Pencey Prep in a couple of months, somewhen around October, he thinks. They have never played the venue before, so it will certainly be of some use to check out the location beforehand while he’s at it. 

Absolutely the only reason he has agreed to meet up with his new… acquaintances, obviously. Yep. 

Also, Frank finds himself standing in front of his closet only in his boxers, weight heavily balanced on one leg while he dramatically presses a hand into his hip, just staring ahead with slightly unfocussed eyes for what feels like the at least twentieth minute. 

Frank has never been one to care about his clothing, really, never. His wardrobe only consists of clothes that are either ‚demolished‘– as Patrick would always complain – with wash proof black fabric marker or torn apart with DIY cut holes, or they are littered with buttons of his favorite bands/artists, and he doesn't really have anything else, which frankly also means he doesn’t have anything especially fancy or ‚regular‘ to wear. 

Which is, he doesn’t know why, really bugging him at the moment.

He doesn’t know why he is making such a fuss about it. He’s not one to fake an especially ‚good impression‘ on a first meet up or date, because if it should turn into something bigger, the person/people will have to endure him the way he is anyway, and that just happens to be his against the system, snarky, annoying, temperamental self. 

With a sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose, he just selects a pair of black jeans (of course with holes showing off his tattooed knees), his less drawn on black chucks and a faded, washed out Black Flag shirt he has definitely wore way too often in his angry teen years, but it’s familiar and comforting so he just rolls with it, folding up the sleeves that are a little too big for his arms. 

Midget life, man.

He reheats the mildly disgusting and way too old leftovers of some vegetarian lasagna he let his mother persuade him into taking it with him on his last visit, her, of course, claiming that he is way too thin and he’s not eating enough to function properly. Which, sadly, is kind of true since all of his money is properly invested in records, guitar equipment, his band, and alcohol. 

Food is kinda secondary there.

The old, rusty Subaru sputters groggily as he inserts the key and starts the motor, but as long as he manages to fire the ignition after a couple of tries, Frank is okay with the rust bucket as long as it gets him from A to B. Also, it still has a cassette player so it’s fun to blare some super low quality Misfits on the beyond broken speakers.

Still, he can’t stop the nervousness from bubbling up in his chest whenever he thinks about meeting Lindsey, Ray and Gerard, oh, especially Gerard. Despite him kind of believing Patrick when he said the guy might not hate him, he still does feel some awkward tension between them, and he himself is just way too awkward to exist and Gerard always seems so withheld as if it is a challenge to be in Frank’s presence…

He sighs and leans his head back against the headrest that his small body only halfway reaches. ‚Stop fucking overthinking this, Ray and Lindsey are nice people, and Gerard will come around too if you treat him nicely. Maybe you have been an asshole all the time and he is so rejecting because of that.‘ He quietly mutters to himself. 

His car sputters to a halt on the dubious, shady parking lot Frank would regularly absolutely not park his car, but eh, the other cars are just as rusty and run down as his so it’ll blend in. Hopefully. 

He checks his reflection in the review mirror one last time and let’s his gaze wander onto the slightly shabby and poorly illuminated entrance of the basement where three shapes are already hanging otu, and he can’t help but smile to himself when he recognizes them as Lindsey, Ray and Gerard, two glimmering red cigarette cherries peeking out from beneath their fingers. 

Yeah, Frank kind of got the idea that Ray isn’t a smoker. 

Anyway, his smile stretches a little wider when he takes a look at Gerard and finds him to be oddly endearing with his (of course) black hoodie pulled over his ears as if he is some stubborn kid that has been forced to tag along by his parents. One could think that if he wasn’t smiling cheekily at something Lindsey said, nose scrunching up and eyes–

Frank’s heart skips a beat.

Shit, the dude is wearing fucking eyeliner and it slaps him in the face like the overdrawn electricity bill he found in his mailbox four weeks ago. 

Frank is so not prepared for this, oh my god, this would have taken at least ten minutes of mental preparation beforehand on his couch while chain-smoking his already half empty pack and stress-watching Adventure Time or something, because boy oh boy, that dude pulls it off better than anyone he’s seen before, and that is coming from a dude hanging out in the underground scenes since his teen years.

Once again, he bangs his head against the headrest and takes a couple of breaths to regain himself. Okay so what, Gerard looks unexpectedly hot, but that doesn’t affect him at all, Lindsey is rocking her stage clothing as well and that red painted mouth is practically screaming in the language of all deadly sins, he’ll get over it, hot people exist.

The second his foot hits the ground and he dares to look up only to find Gerard staring into his should with black rimmed eyes leaves him so confused behind it’s a miracle he’s still standing. 

Geez, pull yourself the fuck together, Iero, you are here to make some friends, not get all weird and bothered.

Seriously, why is he like this.

 

[†]

 

„Frank!“ Lindsey calls out and excitedly waves both of her hands at him, as if he hadn’t notice him already, but to be fair, he did kind of stalk up on them and would have been insulted if they caught him staring. He is the stalker exquisite, skills honed over the years.

He walks up to them a little quicker, contemplating if he should do a little, awkward jog to shorten the awkward silence, but then again he is not one for physical exertion in any form that doesn't involve playing guitar and trashing around on stage, so he’s going to maybe not do that. 

„Hey.“ 

They quickly exchange a few little waves, Ray being his usual, sunshine self and Gerard holding his gaze for a bit before breaking away and occupying himself with his cigarette again, eyes glued to the ground.

The basement is just what Frank thought it would be: A little run down and shabby on the outside, flickering neon lights and a bulky, not amused dude ‚guarding‘ the entrance that however looks like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. 

„So, we’ll be meeting up with Pete and Mikey in a few inside, if that’s cool with you.“ Lindsey asks and raises her dark eyebrows at him. „Sure man, whatever, I’m okay with that.“ He answers with a shrug, because the more the merrier right? 

„Anyway, let’s go inside and grab some drinks, I think the full on MSI-experience is only digestible when you’ve gotten at least two beers in your system.“

 

[†]

 

„Oooh, you play guitar too? No Way!“ Ray exclaims happily, and if Gerard thought the guy was all sunshines and warmth, the excited look on his face is like a supernova or something. Well Ray is kind of smooth to conceal it partly by taking a sip of his beer, but the excessive excited hand gestures stay.

Frank rubs the back of his neck bashfully. „Um yeah, I do.“

„So what kind of equipment do you play? Tell me more, man!“

As if some a switch was flipped in his head, Frank suddenly flourishes and straightens his back, all awkwardness gone and stiffness melted from his body as he starts to fall into a seemingly endless discussion about equipment, icons and different types of picking that, after two minutes, blurs all into one to Gerard. 

His eyes are shining and even though he does sometimes lose track of what he’s saying and awkwardly resorts to fillers to help him focus back on track, there is definitely some huge passion behind there and now that Gerard thinks about it, Frank could easily play in a band. 

His knowledge that easily rivals Ray’s wiseness does suggest it.

Take a shot every time they say ‚Epiphone‘ or ‚Les Paul‘ and you have a pretty decent drinking game.

„Oh Lord, you two are such trash.“ Lindsey giggles fondly and hands Frank and Ray, who tries to decline but of course doesn’t get a say in that, an other beer Gerard assumes she got for free from that beard-y creep bartender that totally has the hots for her.

Both of them synchronically open their mouthes to protest, which is really funny to Gerard because even though they couldn’t look any more different, their expression is 100% the same. Suddenly, two skinny arms wrap around Gerard from behind, almost causing him to spill his beer and fall over.

„Brother dearest!“ A probably already a little drunk Mikey chuckles into his ear, followed by a not so completely sober Pete himself. 

„Oh my God the two of you have absolutely no self control, do you. Pete, why the fuck can’t you be responsible for once? Mikey is a small baby.“ Gerard groans but then laughs at Pete’s heavily insulted face. 

To his relief, Mikey’s clingy arms retreat from around his shoulders to snake back around Pete’s waist where they are a lot more appreciated. Really, the guy will never lay off his drunk clinginess, but luckily enough Pete doesn’t really seem to mind, his tanned and black painted nails dancing over the tender underside of Mikey’s arm in the careful, light way he likes it. Gerard is pleased to know Pete has caught up on that. „Just because he’s my boyfriend doesn’t mean I have to make sure he doesn’t end in a ditch at the end of the night… Wait that was the saying for shitty friends you don’t like–

Suddenly Frank’s surprised voice cuts him off. „Pete?“ He exclaims in disbelief, getting the same reaction back from five set of eyes.

„Wait… Frank! Holy shit, We haven’t seen each other in like what, half a year? Where did the stoner dreads go?“

Frank chokes on his spit, the question earning him quite the couple of eyebrow-raises. „How the hell do you know these guys?“ He questions back, and Gerard doesn’t know if he would have liked an explanation about creepy stoner dreads or if he’d rather let the topic fall just like Frank did.

„Well this is my lovely boyfriend Mikey, in case you haven’t noticed, who happens to be the brother of that grumpy emo kid over there.“

„Oh yeah, I think you mentioned him once.“ Frank remembers. „Or a thousand times, I can’t quite recall.“

Mikey just rolls his eyes and mutters something around the lines of ‚that’s so typical‘ and Pete just shrugs it off, totally unashamed. „The rest of the pack is kind of a bonus to like, even out the pain and suffering it brings to be friends with Gerard. Buy one, get three free, something like that.“

„Wow how kind.“ Gerard sticks his tongue out prematurely, absolutely knowing Pete return the immature gesture back.

„So Pete is like, a regular customer of yours? Because to be honest, I don’t know a lot of people who know Pete Wentz and actually like him just like that.“ Lindsey pipes in, totally enjoying the offended look on Pete’s face.

„I… well.“ Frank giggles that fucking adorable giggle again and Pete burst out in a fit of his trademark annoying laughter too. „The very first time I tattooed him was a couple of years ago even though he was… let’s say moderately tipsy I guess? It was funny though.“ Frank hides his broad smile behind his hand. „Since then, for some reason, he’s been visiting regularly and we’ve become friends, I guess.“

„Yep.“ Pete laughs wholeheartedly and boops a disgruntled Mikey’s nose, who obviously seems to know about the story and is not at all happy about it. „It turned out fucking rad though, you have no idea how cool it felt to wake up with almost no memory of the prior night and suddenly sporting some sick ass art that isn’t a wobbly, misspelled emo-lyric from some band I don’t even like.“ He nudges Frank’s shoulder who shyly looks to the ground. „That really got me to stick around.“

„Thanks man.“

The calm moment is interrupted by Lindsey staring at her phone and announcing MSI’s gig starts in about fifteen minutes and they better be somewhere she can see them or she’ll tell grimy-beer-bartender to spike their drinks or something. Which is threat enough to them, each wishing her luck as she dives into the crowd and is gone.

„Alright, let’s get some more beer!“ Pete whoops over the slowly more and more excited crowd gathering in front of the stage as he grabs Mikey’s arm and do a weird Scottish slash Bavarian traditional dance into vague direction of the bar. 

„Are they okay?“ There is suddenly a voice brushing up against Gerard’s ear, chuckling lowly, and he almost drops his beer for the second time this evening. Shit, that guy is way too close for his liking. 

„Nah, Mikey’s fine, he won’t overstretch his limit, it’s rather Pete you gotta watch out for. He tends to forget when enough is enough.“ Gerard turns his head and Frank chuckles again. „But I guess you know that.“ Gerard is smiling now too, because shit, that dorky, lopsided grin is just hella addicting and secondly just the thought of Pete, hammered out of his mind, stumbling uncoordinatedly into the tattoo parlor is just so absolutely hilarious to him that he couldn’t not at least smile even if he wanted to. 

„Oh yeah.“ A playful glint lights up in Frank’s eyes and Gerard has to try hard not to stare, because shit, does that look suit him. More than Gerard cares to admit. „I wonder how hard it was to accept the guy into your family, like, the dude is just crazy.“

Gerard throws him an equally playful but darker look, because if Frank can, he can too. „Oh, trust me, sometimes I am still wondering myself, don’t get anything wrong here.“ And Frank laughs that breathy, high pitched laughter again that makes Gerard turn to putty on the inside. 

No, man, regain yourself, he scolds himself mere seconds later. „In all seriousness, he’s a good guy, and even though him and Mikey are probably what you would call polar opposites, there currently is nobody I would trust more to be with my little brother.“ He states and takes a sip of his beer, turning to Ray again who they have kind of left out.

„Who’s ready to see Mindless Self Indulgence?“

 

[†]

 

Mindless Self Indulgence are pretty shitty on stage and they know it, but the good thing about it is that they don’t take themselves too seriously.

Sure, Lindsey knows that she is a mediocre bass player that fucks up here and there more than once during the gig and Jimmy knows that his voice is all kinds of demanding and annoying, but the fact that they haven’t changed a thing about it and just embraced it, the fact that they walk around sticking their middle fingers into the air to every asshole that dares to say anything against their individuality is what makes them authentic and just fucking awesome as a band.

Gerard also can’t help but get secondhand adrenaline shocks throughout the entire show with the pure energy the band is jumping and trashing around on stage and is clearly exciting the entire crowd, and even people who are just there to enjoy some (albeit too loud and often really bad) background music while talking to their partners/dates have turned their heads into their direction curiously, wanting to know what is going on there that is mobilizing so many people.

The crowd cheers as Lindsey smoothly and expertly performs one of her famous backbends, bass resting on her hips and crazy, upside down look getting the people wild and cat-calling. Jimmy is his usual bat-shit insane self, belting his profanity- and sex-dripping eccentric vocals into the microphone and just looking as eccentric as ever with his spiky hair and ugly suit, but he is a pretty decent frontman, bouncing all over the stage like a madman while Steve and Kitty slave away on their guitar and drums, giving the music a trashy but catchy soul for the people to work with.

And apparently, according to the heavy roar vibrating though the audience as Jimmy whispers the mildly unsetting lines to ‚Never wanted to dance‘ into the feedback-y microphone, it is exactly what the people want.

While sneak-out sixteen year olds and creepy, bandana-wearing dudes in their sixties with beards down to their bellybuttons are fully focussing on MSI completely taking over the stage, Gerard finds himself, once again, mesmerized by Frank in midst of the crowd. 

And even though he has sworn himself that he is going to fucking act like a regular, normal human being around the guy for once, in the darkness tinged air, that is occasionally drizzled with unprofessional stage lighting, he allows himself to stare, allows himself to take in Frank’s entire body language and movements that just seem so much different from what he has seen from people so far.

He absolutely admires how Frank just wasn’t able to just stay with him and Ray in the back for longer than five minutes and avoiding the overly rowdy people, so he just let go and joined the crowd, jumping and head banging along with them, raising a sweaty arm into the thick air from time to time. 

He also has this thing where a genuine smile stretches over his entire face as MSI play some sick, hard riff a couple of times in a row, as if the drumming sensation of the bass and kick drum vibrating in their throats is giving him life. 

Is is, needless to say, endearing as fuck and Gerard feels like the typical overachiever at New Year that writes an entire list of things that he is so definitely going to change and lay off, that in the end only leads him to complete the resolution that says ‚watch more Netflix‘.

When the intro of ‚2 Hookers and an 8 Ball‘, which is one of his favorites, starts to buzz through the place, Gerard decides to tear his eyes away and actually focus on the music for a change. He looks up and is a little shocked to find Lindsey staring down at him from on top of the stage with a playful, mocking look, poking out her tongue at him when she has his attention. 

Upon seeing Gerard’s mildly terrified expression, she throws back her head in mute, drowned-out laughter and just dances off with a little spin while continuing to abuse the thick stings of her bass.

„Oh yeah, there is, I quote: ‚absolutely totally dead-seriously nothing going on‘, I can see that.“ Ray’s voice startles Gerard to hell and back. Ashamedly, he admits he kind of forgot the 6’5’’ afro guy existed next to him. 

He wails and pulls at his hair exasperatedly instead. „I know, I know, uugh.“ He sighs deeply and Mindless Self Indulgence announces that they are only playing two more songs before they let ‚far shittier bands take over the stage, so savor the moment while it lasts, friends‘. „However, you and Lindsey ganging up on me is abuse and I can’t handle this and it should be stopped this instant or you aren’t going to see one inch of my body for a month because I am going to watch all 90 + Episodes of Tales of the Crypt on repeat while dyeing my hair some weird color that is going to be a danger to the public eye.“

„Okay, okay.“ Ray laughs, his curly hair jumping around his face as he places a hand onto his chest. „Well he’s not a bad choice, though, I gotta say.“

„No Ray, you’re straight.“ 

„Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate when a guy is decent looking?“

„Fair point.“

„Oh, so you are admitting that Frank is your type?“

„No, I am just admitting he doesn't repel me.“

„Well that’s an improvement.“

„Oh shut up, Toro.“

 

[†]

 

„Anyone want to go for a smoke outside? I could so use one.“ Frank sighs, crumpled pack already weighing heavy in his pocket. 

MSI’s gig has ended about fifteen minutes ago and after temporarily saying see-you-later’s to her bandmates and changing into regular clothes since Lindsey claims to have at least some decency, even if she sure does not hesitate to sock a guy straight in the jaw if he’s a sexist asshole, she has found her way to the group of dorks that is lucky to call her their friend.

She has been practically glowing with post-show adrenaline and Frank showering her with compliments about how fucking amazing they were does little to get her down form being her bouncy, excited and energetic self, especially as they have regrouped at the bar and each has had at least one or two beers.

„Ray and I need to go find Petekey and make sure they are not, literally, lying in some ditch, we’ll meet you outside in a few.“ Lindsey winks and pulls Ray after her as they disappear into the masses, leaving Gerard and Frank alone.

Sober Gerard would probably start panicking and freaking out because, as already mentioned in the tattoo parlor accident he does absolutely not want to think about, he can’t handle complicated situations, and this definitely qualifies as one, him, fucking alone with Frank, sporting an almost breathtakingly pretty exertion blush on his freckle-dusted cheeks while looking at him expectingly with an unlit cigarette already pinched between the same fingers he is holding his halfway empty plastic cup in.

Slightly buzzed Gerard is as chill as his freezer about spending time alone with Frank, because slightly buzzed Gerard does not have a single pinch of anxiety and also happens to not give a single fuck.

Which is probably why he gets drunk so often, but psssh, don’t tell Lindsey.

The air outside has turned rather chilly as the night progressed, it being slightly past midnight for sure (not that Gerard knows precisely, it could be four in the morning for all he cares), but that doesn’t stop the two from each lighting their own cigarettes, Gerard secretly relieved he just recently bought a new lighter since the fucked up old one was too unreliable and sputtering for his liking.

„Oooh, I really want to lie down on top of that metal roof thing right there.“ Frank suddenly says way too excitedly and points to a not very high brick wall with with a slightly rusty, metal roof, connecting it to an other wall, forming some roof for bicycles or something. 

Gerard giggles a little too loudly. „Man, that’s going to be hard after all those beers.“ He says as he eyes the actually not too hard to climb thing.

„What are you talking about, we are not thaaat drunk.“ Frank attempts to say but stutters midway through as he stumbles over a root poking out of the ground with a yelp that turns into a defeated laugh. „Okay maybe we are. Curse my body for being small as fuck and also having like, the anatomy of a toothpick.“

„Oh believe me, you’re like, at least a chopstick. Mikey’s the real toothpick here.“ Gerard says before he can stop himself. No regrets though, that was a totally normal comment, right?

„Aw, how flattering.“ Frank winks, fucking winks, at him and begins to hauling himself up the rough bricks of the wall. Gerard’s brain is still reeling a little like the slow, stupid and unreliable thing it is, because while his tipsy brain reduces his anxiety and plain awkwardness (sadly not his cringiness, sadly), it does heighten his perception and attraction and all that other useless shit. „Come up here, man, like, the stars are rad.“

„The stars are also ‚rad‘“ Gerard finger quotes. „Down here. Gotta try harder than that.“

Gerard can hear Frank chuckling to himself and emptying the rest of his beer and failing a poor attempt to crush the beer can. „Just come up here, it’s all atmosphere and shit.“ Frank whines and flops onto his back again, but the halfway by darkness hidden grin spreading across his face is one that just knows that he won’t have to do any more persuasion to have Gerard climb on top of the damn thing.

Gerard sloshes the remains of his beer in his plastic cup, sighing when he yields and balances on his tiptoes to place his cup onto the platform next to Frank. „If you drink from it, you are dead.“ He says halfheartedly, fully knowing Frank will probably steal away a sip or two in the time it will take him to reach the top. 

„It’s funny, you know?“ Frank sits up and stares ahead quietly where the main road dies down into smaller ones leading into a couple of dimly lit housing estates. Gerard, however, slightly panting as he reaches the top because he is an unathletic motherfucker, does not possess the abilities to decode cryptic questions.

„Uh what?“

„Whenever I meet people for the first time, it’s usually, like, no offense, more civil and like, a lot less… alcohol induced.“ He giggles and covers it with a gorgeous hand and wow, drunk Gerard should stop staring, right now. 

Frank sighs and let’s himself drop onto his back again, lacing his hands together on top of his skinny chest. „It was nice though.“ He smiles more to himself than at the twinkling sky, eyes scrunching up with something that is probably a suppressed chuckle. „The three of you and, uh… Petekey? are really fucking great company.“

Gerard crosses his legs and cradles the plastic cup against his lap, occasionally taking a sip to distract himself from the sheer beauty that is Frank being completely mesmerized by the slightly light-polluted night sky. 

In Gerard’s eyes, he is so unique, a type of person he hasn’t come across in all his lifelong lurking around in dubious groups of people, weird artist students and wannabe music connoisseurs. Frank is just so… Frank, and it draws Gerard in with a force that he wasn’t prepared for, and the way he taps his foot to some quiet humming of ‚Shut me up‘ makes his chest flutter and tingle in every stupidly hopeless way.

„You’re really into music, right?“ He asks, finishing off the last biter drops of beer to conceal the suddenness of his question. Because even though he is a awkward, clumsy piece of shit, he still kind of does want to find some topic they can have some extended conversation on, and if it is in his usual, weird way, so be it.

As already mentioned, drunk Gerard does not give that many fucks, very much to the dismay of next-day-sober Gerard that will groan at himself and wonder why people actually like him.

„Well, yeah.“ For some reason, a pinkish hue adorns Frank's cheeks and he looks down onto his fingernails. „I know I tend to like, talk way too much and get almost ‚childishly excited‘ when people bring it up, but fuck those who can’t deal with it, it’s just something I’m passionate about.“ He grins happily, sitting up as well to light himself a cigarette, red cherry glowing fire-hot in the flickering streetlight-lit darkness of the night.

Gerard nods slowly, Frank’s smoke causing his insides to crave an other smoke as well, so he quickly lights up too. They just sit in comfortable silence, and Gerard can tell Frank sure is the kind of guy that likes to talk a lot but can also appreciate comfortable, calm silence without tensely having to fill the void of words with sound.

„So, what do you listen to?“

And really, when Frank said he gets childishly excited, the delighted, happy look shimmering in his eyes is a perfect description. „Oh geez, are you sure you’re ready for that conversation?“ Frank jokes but quickly regains himself. „It’s mostly Punk and Punk Rock, sometimes Hardcore, you know? Just very very inspiring music that kind of makes you want to take on the world and actually make a change you know?“ Frank enthuses, hands flying and eyes sparkling, and now that he mentions it, Gerard can totally see that. „It just really fascinates me how back in the day bands could move an entire generation to express themselves, to be individual, take things into their own hands and just be free, and whenever I listen to those bands, I feel like a part of that, or something. I really love Bouncing Souls, Minor Threat, Misfits, Black Flag, that kind of thing. I’m rambling again, your turn.“

„What?“

„Oh, come on, you can’t just except me to not ask you back, that’s not how it works.“ Frank protests, ashes from his dying cigarette flying everywhere with a sweeping hand gesture.

„If you say so.“ Gerard chuckles to himself and offers his lighter to Frank, who has smoked his cigarette down to the brim and is fumbling though his pockets for his own. „You have a point, Punk is fucking great and Misfits are fucking legend, oh my God, but it has always been more Rock, especially Glam, for me. Brit Pop was also pretty much the thing that brought me and my brother closer together when we were young, if you ask me. He’s more into heavier, harder bands though, while I stuck with Iggy, Bowie and The Smiths and all that stuff. Also any form of Garage Rock really gets me, from Sixties Punk to the revival, I really dig that.“

„That’s fucking rad.“ Frank nods slowly and takes a deep drag of his cigarette he has been completely neglecting in order to focus his complete attention on Gerard talking. Which absolutely does not make him blush in the darkness, no, the streetlights have a pink tinge to them, okay.

„You look a lot like your music taste, you know? You being all rebellious and hardcore and shit.“ Gerard is glad he is holding his smoke in one hand and is nestling with the empty plastic cup in his lap with the other, because otherwise he is sure he would have quite literally punched himself square in the face. Geeze, the beers have been wearing off quite well for the last thirty minutes, so really, what the fuck?

That it doesn’t get him a slightly weirded out look and a awkward, breathy half chuckle but a shy, cute giggle in return is something that will probably amaze him into his late eighties. „Oh God, you need to stop flattering me this instant.“ Frank laughs that slightly nasal laugh where he throws back his head and places a hand on his chest, and if Gerard ever thought there was a point of return, he has definitely missed that one by at least fifty miles.

He is glad he doesn’t have any of his beer left, because he definitely would have opted for a especially long sip to conceal the stupid blush intensifying on his pale ass cheeks, because if he did, he would have definitely choked at the playful, teasing look Frank throws his way suddenly. 

„I could say the same about you though.“ He grins cheekily. „With you giving off that androgynous vibe with that flamboyance and sassiness, damn, it’s like, a perfect match.“

Aaaand it turns out Gerard doesn’t need beer to choke on something, in his case, plain, void-y air is all he needs to send his lungs into arrest. 

But then it dawns on him. What if Frank finds that odd? Gerard knows he himself is definitely not the hunkiest dude flashing his tanned abs on Jersey shore, and even though the people here are not the biggest kinds of assholes, he sure does get his regular dose of disrespecting and degrading looks thrown his way, because you can be David Bowie all you want, when you’re not a generation defining icon with that god like status, and you’re just the weird, feminine greasy broke art dude that nobody really wants to get in touch with because good people don't want to hang out with freaks.

„Does that… bother you?“

„What?“

„Me, giving off that vibe.“

Frank frowns and flicks his burned down cigarette down the side of the wall. Damn, the guy smokes even quicker than Gerard does. „Why would it, man?“ 

Gerard shrugs and looks into the distance past Frank, breaking eye contact, it’s a thing he does when talking about things he doesn’t like that much. „Well usually when people confront me with it, they do that in a really loathing way. Accusing me of being a fag and all that shit is like a sport amongst those, even the ones I though are more open minded about all that stuff.“ 

He shrugs again and raises his cigarette to his lips. His hand is shaking slightly. He doesn’t know why he cares, he likes to think he has grown a pretty thick skin considering that matter, but somehow with Frank, he does care a lot. Even it it makes him sound like the emo loner reject he was in hight school.

„Well are you?“ Frank asks bluntly and Gerard draws back, startled. What the hell? His blood begins to boil, because seriously, what. the. fuck. Even though his arm have not seen the inside of the gym, his drunken self is happy to slap Frank straight across the face if he is some close minded asshole.

„See, don’t you dare to even think of an answer to that question more than two seconds. Because the answer is always no, you know?“ Frank says quickly, sensing Gerard’s sudden change in mood. „So fucking what? Let people talk shit about you all they want, in the end it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it? Because when it comes down to it, you shouldn't measure your worth and like, inner beauty by what the majority of society tells you, but more than by what the people you love appreciate you for.

You’re gay, not straight, or just different, so what? I bet at least fifty percent of why Lindsey loves you so much is because of that fucking sass you seem o have an endless stash tucked away somewhere, even though it surely is kind of well hidden because of your continual grumpiness.“

He flashes Gerard a cheeky grin that makes him chuckle, because damn, that is kind of true. 

„They give you that look where they stare you down with that cold, squinting look because you’re different? Just think ‚well fuck you, at least I’m not aspiring to be like anyone else, at least people meet me for the first time and go like, ‚oh, that was Gerard, the weird art hobo with great music taste‘ instead of like ‚uhm, who was Janet again, because she’s a bland, regular bitch‘.‘“ That tickles an other chuckle out of Gerard, and seriously, Frank needs to stop those magical powers that make him feel so good about himself for a change, wow.

„Just, really, fuck society and those who try to make your life hard. Having a single negative thought about not fitting into the tightly woven grid close-minded people with enormous sticks up their asses is totally not worth it.“ He finishes and let’s his hazel eyes wander back to the stars glittering though the light-polluted air.

„Sorry I’m a little drunk.“ He sighs and rests his hand in his palm to look at Gerard with heavy lidded eyes again. „Im the really ‚giggly but also philosophical-as-fuck drunk‘, so yeah, sorry for the wordy rant about society, it just fucking triggers me and shit and the words start flowi–

Gerard lifts a hand to lazily interrupt his apologizing. Frank should not feel sorry for talking such inspirational things, what the hell. „Nah man, I… thank you. You have a way with words, it’s amazing.“ He smiles and Frank exhales a nervous breath he has been holding, shooting Gerard a thankful look. He is about to open his mouth and say something else, but is once again interrupted by a loud call floating up to them from the bottom of the wall.

„Oh my God, I dead ass thought we lost you as well!“ Lindsey pants, clearly exhausted with Ray and two very wasted looking silhouettes that resemble Pete and Mikey supporting each other lurking behind in the darkness. „Seriously, we were just running around for at least thirty minutes.“

Frank and Gerard peek over the edge of the metal roof slowly. „How are Mikes and Pete? From what I can see with my reduced eyesight, they are royally fucked.“ Frank laughs into his fist when a slurred, offended sound comes from Pete’s direction.  
„Oh yeah, you wouldn’t believe.“ Lindsey half laughs, half rolls her eyes in annoyance. „They are pretty okay now, but we did end up finding them in a fucking ditch, just laying next to each other and giggling. I’m really losing my faith in Mikey’s boyfriend-taming abilities, to be honest.“ Gerard and Frank laugh even harder when Mikey calls something around the lines of ‚what the fuck are you talking about, I am the best caretaker ever.‘

„The dude takes heaters into the bathtub, It doesn't surprise me his Pete-comtaining abilities are reducing.“ Gerard sighs and motions for Frank to climb down so everyone can get their asses home.

It is a fucking difficult and not at all un-dangerous way down but lo and behold, ten minutes later the group has each said their goodbyes and parted in a pleasingly friendly and content way. 

Which Gerard is immensely grateful for as he sinks into the comfortable warmth of his way too thick for summer heat blankets that night, this time sadly without Lindsey staying over.

He is way too tired to think today through, he will reevaluate every of his choices the next morning, because for now, all he’s going to do is get at least four hours of sleep to even somewhat function tomorrow.

 

[†]

 

After that particularly interesting evening, Lindsey Ballato finds herself snuggling into the backrest of her junkyard-scavenged sofa exhaustedly and covered with a cozy blanket, socked feet dangling carelessly over the edge as she nurses a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Not the good shit, with like, real chocolate and mint and all that fancy additives but the cheap powder stuff fulfills it’s purpose too.

At Friday evenings it is usually a surprise to not find her at Gerard’s, but she knows she can’t just take up the guy’s time whenever she wants, she can’t stay at his place for four days in a row, it’s simply not a thing you do, and despite her sometimes (okay always) being kind of rude and over energetic, she does like to claim to have some decency and tact. 

She doesn’t like her apartment the way she likes Gerard’s, even though it is bigger and has higher quality furniture (which, really, isn’t that hard), it lacks the wonderful individuality Gerard has managed to bless his with with all kinds of posters and arty shit crookedly hanging from the walls, scattered drawings, with it’s weird lamps they have saved from cold, wintery garage sales and the admittedly ugly, mismatched furniture. 

She smiles to herself as she pulls her legs under her body and rearranges herself to be more comfortable with the warmth of her drink seeping into her hands and let’s the events of earlier this day replay inside her head one more time. 

Playing with the rest of MSI on stage is fucking great, it’s shitty, it’s raw, and most of all, it’s infinite fun with those crazy fellas that are way too insane for their own good. Finding Petekey drunk off their asses and stuck in a legitimate ditch was the funniest thing Lindsey has had the privilege to witness in the last three months and maybe even funnier was the fact that Gerard and Frank got drunk as well, even though it was Frank’s first time hanging out with them. Seriously, she could have chosen friends who have less affinity to alcohol. She should be friends with like, six Rays. 

So much fro, me gusta.

Anyway, back on track, Frank is a pretty decent guy, if she does say so. She is, of course, not at all biased because of the fact that Frank knew MSI before she could spam him with their band camp page like some super attention thirsty whore, and, which is also like, totally rare, actually likes them.

No, in all seriousness, Frank is great, he’s outgoing, positive, charming and individual in a way that is authentic and not try hard. Lindsey also absolutely loves how he has warmed up so quickly to the three of them even though they were quite awkward around each other before, she will have to thank Ray for that, that glow in his face when they started to rant about guitars, man, that sure was powerful. 

Also Lindsey loves how the guy Gerard is after (even though he is still not admitting it, she is sure he himself secretly is more than aware of his crush on the short, tattooed guy) is actually not an asshole for once but actually someone she is 150% okay of him getting it on with. 

And at the same time, that’s where Lindsey’s motherly, best-friend-ly instincts are sending her all kinds of mixed signals. 

She and Gerard have been friends still high school and she likes to think she knows the guy better than he knows himself, which is actually a possibility since the guy is full of denial and good at pretending things don’t exist when they actually are sticking out like a sore thumb, but yeah. 

And since they are like, practically soul mates or just very very close, she just knows Frank is a choice dude that could completely be the one at Gerard’s side, it is everything he loves, dark hair, intricate character, charming yet not sleazy or overwhelming and interesting into the very last fiber of his body.

However, there was just the same kind of guy that had those qualities as well, and exactly that guy was the one to completely ruin Gerard’s life for at least one and a half years, and she is willing to cut off her pinky just to ensure that doesn’t happen again.

Because at first, that’s what Bert McCracken was: Incredibly charismatic, friendly and inviting in a way that came across as natural and casual, good with people and a handsome bastard. 

But he was also dominating, asocial and terrorizing at the same time under the surface, and most of all, he was a sick, abusive bastard. 

Lindsey sighs and leans back, fumbling through the pockets of her jacket that has been carelessly thrown over the armrest of the couch next to her. She needs some nicotine in her system to bring calm over her clenched fists, because seriously, even the slightest mention of the guy sends her on edge, rage and all kinds of other negative emotions starting to pump through her bloodstream.

She manages to peel herself off the couch and, with the cigarette already lit between her lips, and lean out the open window that gives view onto the sparsely illuminated neighborhood, calm and not caring about what is going on in the rest of the world.

If there is one thing she want’s to prevent in this world, it is Gerard having to go through this again, and she doubts he would let that happen again, also she is pretty sure that Frank is not a repetition of Bert, but still, she trusted the guy too at first and look how it turned out. However also the way Gerard is absolutely unconditionally crushing on the guy kind of makes her feel nervous, what if he doesn’t spot the signs early enough because he is seeing everything though rose colored glasses?

She sighs deeply again. This is way too complicated for her own good. She will probably have to talk to Ray about it to get a more structured and clear picture of the situation, because in all of her concern and good will, her mind is a jumbled mess that sure does interpret things the wrong or more chaotic and messy way than is necessary, and Ray is the perfect guy to get some light into the darkness. 

Knowing him, he very probably has everything figured out already or has at least thought about the whole… Frerard thing, yep, that is what she is going to call it now, so all she has to do to soothe her overdrive motherly concerned mind and have an extended chat about Gerard’s choice of love interests. 

Nothing easier than that. 

Still, all she wishes for Gerard is for him to be happy for once, however if the person he is going to choose for that turns out to be Frank, the guy will have to undergo serious examination by the highly decorated private detectives ‚Ballato & Toro‘ to make sure he is a decent guy. 

Not that that is a thing, even though it would be fucking rad. 

Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep laughing at my crappy 1 am spelling, I wrote 'whinnying' instead of whining like imagine Frank opening his mouth and instead of a regular normal human whine he would just fucking emit a horse whinny like omfg.


	5. /5/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even have an excuse why this is so late, other than I am actually having a social life for a change and that means I have to compensate me actually being (kinda) socially active with watching elijah & christine videos nonstop in my free time so yea
> 
> Anyway, just scroll past my useless notes, who even reads these tbh
> 
> ALERT MY SPELLING IS WORSE THAN EVER, PLEASE FORGIVE
> 
> (really I sometimes cry at the attempt to proofread this.)

When Frank enters the tattoo parlor the next day, he already finds Patrick comfortably nestled into his usual spot on the crappy leather sofa, thumbing through Frank’s Stephen King novel and humming softly to some slushy Sinatra tune coming from the speakers (Fuck you, Brendon). He has read way more than Frank already, which means he has some serious catching up to do. 

Can’t have Patrick finishing his own book sooner than him.

„Hello, Frank.“ Patrick smiles in a way that is absolutely not kosher to him, eyes way to knowing for someone to just casually say hello and not aim for something beyond that. 

„What’s the question burning on your tongue? Spit it out, man, I know you are about to say something that is either going to roast my pride or expose my sins in any other way, so make this quick and painless.“

And indeed, his grin stretches the slightest bit wider so his pearly whites are flashing. „How is everything between you and that dude you’ve been all whiny and concerned about? He still totally hates you, I assume?“

Frank rolls his eyes and, while hanging up his cardigan (yes, he does own a wide variety of cardigans and they are fucking comfy so if you insult them you insult him), swats at Patrick’s head. „I wouldn’t say we’re about to jump into bed together but he doesn’t seem to loathe me, okay? You happy now?“ He scoffs fondly as Patrick chuckles to himself. Damn, the guy loves to be right more than anything, and even though it is kind of an exhausting character trait at least to Frank, it’s fucking adorable.

„Well that is lovely to hear.“ He chirps back cheerfully, still smiling to himself as he diverts his attention back to the book resting in his lap. „Anyway, a little bird told me that you went to the MSI-gig at the weekend?“ He asks way to casually in order for it to be a random question.

„Oh my fucking god, who the fuck told you Lindsey plays for MSI.“

„Well, what can I say, word travels fast in a small place like this.“

„Oh, Pete is such a snitch, I think I’m gonna kill him.“ Frank fumes, he should have known the word would spread quickly to Patrick, since the two are like, really close friends. Hence the Peterick ship he hasn’t quite gotten off, even though he really is happy Pete found such a choice guy in Mikey. The dude seems to keep him under control. A little. Maybe.

„He’ll probably write some poetry while doing so, might be fun.“ Patrick laughs into the crumpled pages of Frank’s Stephen King novel as he passionately belts out some Hamilton lyrics in his soul voice. 

Needless to say, they only last five minutes of really poorly suppressed laughter until Bob’s head pops around the corner and he immediately starts to scold them for not being able to stay quiet for more than a fucking second. Which again, results in Frank flipping him off through the wall as he is gone and gets Patrick to reluctantly snort behind his hand again.

A couple of minutes later, Brendon rushes in, all panting and sweaty, pausing at the door for a second to regain his breath in heavy gulps, leaning against the doorframe heavily. Frank’s and Patrick’s heads synchronically snap up, causing the lanky guy to twitch for a moment and look around the room hastily until he notices Bob is absent. His shoulders relax visibly.

„You’re fucking late.“ Frank drawls from where he has accompanied Patrick on the couch and has started sipping on disgustingly warm diet coke. Even though the dude is not very good company when he is reading (Frank’s book), it is better than somehow trying to occupy himself with boring shit until his first appointment for the day, and also, there is no way he is cleaning when it’s someone else’s turn, no thank you, he’d chose silence with a dash of Patrick ignorance anytime.

„I know!“ Brendon smiles way too joyfully, way to animatedly throwing his jacket – that Frank doesn’t know why he is wearing, it’s fucking ninety plus degrees outside, but okay – over the hanger and practically bounces to the register and fill in his attendance while whistling to some film music song that isn’t as crappy as Frank likes to complain about.

Anyway, to a regular person, this would be fucking weird, every normal human being would question either how much lines of coke this dude has done before showing up or how many nights he has spent sleepless in order to archive such a blindingly energetic hyper-activeness. 

The answer is however just Brendon being Brendon, and that means the hellishly annoying mix of ADHD, awful music taste and a voice that can make you cry and want to slap him across the face at the same time. 

„No.“ Frank reflexively holds out his hand and shoots Brendon down with an icy look as he opens his mouth to announce that is probably an update about how he is having a rather exciting time with Ryan and Dallon, however Frank is, at no time of the day and in no state of intoxication willing to listen to Brendon’s gross private life, so yeah, he can allow himself to be antisocial from time to time considering that matter.

Brendon throws his head back and laughs that stupidly melodic laugh he has been blessed with at birth (his Mormon parents must have done some effective ass praying) and sticks his tongue out at Frank. „You’re no fun, Frankie.“ 

He grins when Frank scoffs, not so fondly as he did at Patrick. „Oh, trust me, I am aware of that. Making your day at least a little darker is what brightens mine, that’s how not fun I am.“

„Yeah, yeah, you’re so punk rock.“ Brendon teases and Frank knows he feeds off his rage, but damn, if Brendon completely driving Frank into madness isn’t like, his only hobby, he doesn’t know how Brendon would spend all his useless time here. He’s a good guy though, even though Frank would never admit that, to at least not completely pull him to pieces here. 

„Anyway, Iero, how did your date with your loverboy go?“ Frank chokes on his diet coke. Okay, so now he has no reason to spare Brendon anymore, he’s going to say it straight out. Brendon is a sadistic, self-important asshole who loves embarrassing people more than he loves his mother. There you have it.

„Fist of all: What. The. Hell.“ Frank inhales and sputters again, fuck diet coke, seriously. „Secondly, how the fuck do you know where I spent the weekend and thirdly how on earth do you know about Gerard, I have never talked to you about him, I do not want to talk to you about him, and I was never intending to talk to you about him. Fucking explain.“

Brendon just laughs obnoxiously and shoots Frank an extremely cringey ‚mystery look‘. „Oh well, what can i say, word travels quickly in a small place like this.“

„Patrick you are a fucking snitch too, oh my God I can’t believe it, now the two of you are ganging up on me, really? I thought we had this unspoken pact, where it’s only you and me, the two of us against Brendon? I can’t believe you have forsaken me. Why have you forsaken me?“ Frank tries to exasperatedly sing but ends up groaning in frustration instead.

„Was that a System of a Down reference?“

„Fuck off.“

Frank groans again and luckily the customer walking through the door that is in dire need of reparation is at least seven feet tall and every inch of him seems to scream ‚underground, shady business‘ so he doesn’t call out on Frank’s language. 

Which moms holding their sixteen year old daughters hand that are about to get some kitschy roman numerals tattooed sure like to do.

„You know what, I hate all of you. And no, Brendon is not doing walk-ins today, instead I am quite thrilled to be of service.“ Frank cuts Brendon off and shoves him away to jump behind the cash register himself. 

Yes, Frank Iero can be very antisocial if he wants to be.

 

[†]

 

„You know you aren’t just gonna escape me, right?“ Brendon pops around the corner unexpectedly after Frank has finally finished a couple of appointments later the day, startling the crap out of him. 

„Jesus Fuck.“ He curses and almost drops his used gloves. 

„Whoops, keep in the swearing, you’ll need it for what I’m about to say.“ His evil grin only spreads wider across his face and he leans closer to Frank, who has somehow manages to lose all of his motivation to live for the next approximately three months. 

„What is it.“ He asks, feigning immense boredom and throwing the used gloves in the trash with an expertly flick of wrist, even though he is dying fifty deaths on the inside. It’s either something to do with Brendon fucking up and Frank having to help him fix it again in order for Bob to not fire him or Frank being in actual trouble. Well shit.

„You and me,“ Brendon affectionately loops his arm around Frank’s neck like the no-physical-boundaries guy he is and hugs him way too close to his skinny chest for Frank’s liking. He is this close to jabbing something very sharp between the tall guy’s ribs. Or bite them, he’s especially on the edge by now. „Are going music scavenging after work. Togetheeeeeer.“ He belts out his ever so annoying and sinfully pretty opera voice and an impossibly wide grin spreads across his features so wide it could probably be used as a chart to illustrate the huge gap between rich and poor in the US. 

„It’s the time of the yeaaar, Frankie!“

„Oh for fuck’s sake.“ Frank groans and rolls his eyes. 

For people who work in Bob’s tattoo parlor, the ‚time of the year‘ is probably the most exhausting thing ever. See, the exterior of the parlor might be fucked up and everything, but Bob sure knows they have their regulars and even though he is a pretty assholish dude, he knows what their customers like. 

And so it happens for their customers to be especially passionate about music and all that stuff, so at one fateful, rainy day about three years ago, Bob announced to each of the lazy fucks working in this shop that they had to put together a playlist that is going be played in the store to set an appropriate atmosphere. He told them it could be personalized and all, but it really shouldn’t be some shitty modern Pop shit that nobody likes anyway.

And since Bob is a no chill dude and has ridiculously high standards (which, considering tattoo skills and tattoo artists in general really isn’t a bad thing), he commanded them to each prepare a playlist that is diverse and not boring as fuck, and it has to be at least five fucking hours long. Needless to say, each time he demands a new one, people are breaking out in sweat and not seeing the outside for a week as if they were reliving high school and facing their standardized tests all over again. 

Also, needless to say, even though music is like, all of their lifeblood, they all fucking hate the procedure, since Bob absolutely does not accept Spotify playlists and also wants them to integrate the bands they listen to in it to like, spark the interest of the customers.

It does pay off though, in the last two months, Frank has gotten several asks from different customers what band that ‚sick ass tune‘ was from, because, ‚man, your music is fucking goals, dog, I gotta see that mixtape sometime‘.

„How the fuck is it the time of the year, I just submitted my last playlist like, a month ago, that should let me off the hook for at least four more months?“ Frank frowns and finally pushes Brendon away, because enough body contact is enough, he doesn’t need to reming himself how he just about reaches to his shoulder because he’s a fucking midget.

Brendon suddenly throws his head back and laughs that completely unashamed, annoying laugh Frank has learned to interpret as like, the darkest omen out there. „Well, the thing is I kind of… forgot? To tell you? And you have to get it done till tomorrow?“ He wipes away a tear and actually suddenly flinches towards the door when he sees the genuine, dark malice in Frank’s eyes. Because Frank feels pretty malicious right now, and he has no problem with ripping that pretty face off Brendon’s head if he didn’t like, go to jail for that or something.

„WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKITY FUCKING FUCK BRENDON URIE ARE YOU SUICIDAL BECAUSE I AM THIS CLOSE TO RAMMING THIS NEEDLE TROUGH YOUR EYEBALL RIGHT HERE AND NOW AND THERE WILL BE NO WITNESSES.“

„Well the good news is that I’m going to help you, at least today.“

„To be honest, I think I am better off without you.“

„I know you love me. So meet me at five and we’ll go to the record store? The one next to Starbucks?“

„Why the hell the record store? Let’s just rip off some tracks from the internet at home or something, why bother?“

„I just happen to know there is an incredibly attractive guy working there who also happens to have a way better taste in music than you who could help you out and make life ten times easier.“

„All my friends are snitches.“ Frank is legitimately close to tears at this point, because seriously, if there has been any point in his life that has been unfair as fuck, this one is far worse.

 

[†]

 

Brendon jabs his finger between Frank’s shoulder blades as he has to take a breath to compose himself and sort the words in his head for the imminent encounter with Gerard fucking Way who he has become strangely cool with the last time they saw each other…? Maybe?

„Take that finger out of my shoulder blades, for fuck’s sake, or terrible things will happen to it.“

And there go the first displeased looks from fellow customers. Whatever, let’s get this over with.

The odd pair – controversial looking, pierced five foot dude littered with tattoos and a weirdly attractive, clearly queer toothpick with fluffy hair and a big ass mouth – makes it’s way through the rows slowly, because Frank instructed so, of course not totally suspiciously on the lookout for a dark haired, fragile faced dude going by the name Gerard.

After a good fifteen minutes of stalking over the tops of shelves that Frank is actually to short to peer over, even Brendon whispers ‚fuck it‘ and abandons their ‚hiding place‘ to strut to the front of the store to ask at the cash register, causing Frank to scuttle after him, cursing and panicking. Why is he like this, seriously.

„Oh Gerard? He should be somewhere near the rock section while you’ve been just… scouting the children’s audiobook department the past quarter hour for some reason.“ The guy, who is sporting longish black hair and a place, feminine face, informs them and Frank rolls his eyes on the inside. This… Jason guy can go fuck himself, seriously, they were stealthy as FUCK, okay.

„Great, thank you and bye.“ Frank says briskly and digs his nails into Brendon’s arm to drag him off to the rock section that is actually at the other end of the store, between a huge pop section Frank has the huge desire to burn to the ground and a displeasingly small metal/hardcore section.

Brendon lets out a low whistle when he spots Gerard, a few CD’s in hand and vinyls clamped under his other arm with his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration to sort them correctly into their slots that are higher up, letting his shirt ride up a little and expose a strip of beautiful, ebony smooth skin–

All Frank wants to do is run off to the kid’s audiobook department again and lean against the shelf and cry, because damn, that work uniform hugs his soft form so perfectly he has a hard time prying his eyes away and it is making his brain all tingly and weird and he just wants to go home. 

„Um, Gerard, right?“ Brendon wastes no time to attack Gerard out of the blue, actually startling him and Frank sighs deeply. Great, now it probably comes across like he doesn’t have the guts to be the one to talk to Gerard like the huge pussy he is.

Which is kind of the truth, to be honest, but let’s not dwell on that for a second when the bigger current threat in his life is the fact that Bob is going to probably rip his head off if he doesn’t have that fucking Mixtape done by tomorrow. Fuck Brendon for not telling him, this is so going to be such a disaster.

„Yeah, that’s me, hey.“ Gerard brushes a few stray bangs our of his face delicately and jerks his head abruptly to support the motion, and even though Frank really digs that 2004 hairstyle, Gerard should probably get a haircut. Not because he is super curious what Gerard would look like with short hair, maybe dyed some fancy color, not at all.

„Frank!“ His face lights up when he spots Frank lurking around, partially failing to hide behind Brendon’s frame. Seriously, get your shit the fuck together, Frank, the guy does not resent you and you probably more than just like him– what the fuck, okay no, this has to stop right now.

„Hey, man, how’s it going?“ Frank, despite him having a small inner crisis, smiles at Gerard who’s grin widens as well. 

„Job sucks, but yeah, I’m good. What brings you here? I saw you talking to Jason, hope he wasn’t a fucking asshole as he always is.“

„There are worse.“ Brendon shrugs and nudges Frank so that he awkwardly stumbles in front of the tall, lanky guy. He shoots him a dirty look for almost tripping into Gerard, but then again, he decides to get to the point and get his problem out to Gerard.

„Okay, so the reason we’re here is because my asshole of a boss has this thing where he wants us to make a mixtape to play in the shop to keep our customers.“ He explains quickly, almost floundering every second word. „Anyway, we usually seek help from people we know have good music taste-“ Frank, quite pleased, watches as a pink hue spreads over Gerard’s round cheeks, „So yeah, that’s why we came.“

„Oh okay…“ Gerard says slowly and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think about something, and Frank is seriously asking himself if Gerard doesn’t know how pretty he looks like that, cheap neon lighting catching in his sea green eyes. „When do you have to get it done? I’m sure that’ll take a while, but I’m happy to help.“

Frank sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Seriously, that area should be long ago chafing with all the nervous rubbing he’s been doing there. Fuck that habit. „Well that’s the thing… shit’s due tomorrow.“

Gerard shares a sympathetic look with Brendon, who pretends to feel Frank’s inner pain even though the entire situation is his sole fucking fault before tapping a long finger against his little-defined chin. „Well shit…you sure you can’t just say you’re going to pop by tomorrow too and we’ll get it done then? I’ll be around longer.“

„Oh no, sadly. Like, the dude has broken my little toe once because I fucked up and I don’t want that to happen again, man, dark times.“ Frank sighs theatrically, and of course Brendon has to immediately put in his two cents to the story Frank feels like he has told a million times already but it’s a crucial process in order to underline his ever so loving relationship with his boss that, sadly, is also the dude keeping his head above water financially. 

„Oh, behold, the ‚Bob broke Frank’s little toe‘ story.“ He laughs, leaning back against a shelf, absolutely not caring about the CD’s clicking against each other behind his back. 

„It’s not fucking funny, it really fucking hurt! And I couldn’t get tattooed for like, seven weeks.“ Frank protests, because that was really not amusing in the least, he wanted to get his leg tattooed that week and had already made an appointment with an artist he fucking adored ever since he was like, fifteen, but no, guess who had to wear a full cast and thus miss the two week window the artist was guest tattooing in New Jersey because some weird foot bone had been fractured too? Frank Iero. And guess who doesn’t have enough money to blow on a random trip to California to just get an other appointment? Frank fucking Iero.

„So sad.“ Brendon fake sobs and Gerard giggles, and Frank is lost in space and time for a moment, because wow, that laugh is so dorky and awkward, he doesn’t think he has ever heard something equally adorable. That of course doesn’t happen without Brendon totally noticing him cause the guy is strangely attentive despite him being completely all over the place and having the attention span of a small kid.

The three regain themselves and Gerard breaks the comfortable, occasionally chuckle-filled silence. „Okay, so what exactly are you looking for? Might as well get started now.“

In the meantime, Brendon is already trying to sneak off to the on-sale Sinatra CD’s displayed somewhere in the back, only four bucks the record or something. Frank, even though he is really short, does not hesitate to grab him by the neck and dig his blunt fingernails into the soft flesh. „Oh you, my friend, are going to fucking help since you're the root of all this evil.“ Frank turns to Gerard again, who is watching their playful banter with attentive eyes and a smile playing on his lips.

„So apparently,“ Frank shoots Brendon a dark look as he attempts to inch away from the group of three once again. „My harcore-punk mix was to ‚hard and screamo‘ for Bob’s liking and while the customers were literally coming over themselves– 

Gerard visibly flinches when an elderly mother with two children scoffs loudly and guides them to an other aisle quickly–

„At how fucking good the mix was but no… of course it wan’t pleasing enough.“ Frank fumes, not even sorry for upsetting the lady, because seriously, swearing in the US is so overrated. People in Europe and Ireland swear all the fucking time and no one cares. Teach your children the right manners like respect and tact instead of drumming in the stupid concept of not swearing, really, it’s so pathetic.

„Well to cheer you up, he didn’t exactly approve of my last mix either and people liked it.“ Brendon shrugs with an evil grin. 

„Yours was fucking Sinatra and Muse over and over and over and the only people who liked it were the sixteen year old chicks and their bleach blonde mothers.“ Frank exclaims furiously, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. „So yeah, I’m completely panicking and really need some good advice so that’s why were here.“ He exhales and with a groan quickly rubs his eyes. If this stress level keeps going on, he is going to grow his first grey hair at the age of like, what, 27? „Please, help us.“ Gerard giggles fucking again, like how on earth are people expecting him to get through this life, this is way too hard. Nobody prepared him for this.

„Well luckily, since I am employed in this underpaid, beyond shitty workplace, it is kind of like, my duty to help you out, I’m not gonna like, just run out of the store to escape you.“

„Than God.“

„That is, only if you stop insulting Muse, they are like, 50% my lifeblood.“

„That’s going to be a hard one but I’ll try.“

„This guy I can get used to.“ Brendon laughs and slaps Gerard’s back enthusiastically.

 

[†]

 

„So how many tracks are we talking here? Twenty? Fifty?“

Frank’s heart drops. „Uh, we’re talking about a full blown five to six hours playlist.“ He bites the inside of his cheek, rethinking the entire operation, man, maybe he should have just stayed at home and stay up all night searching the internet and his extensive record collection until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

„Oh no, the length is not that bothering.“ Gerard worries his lip between his tiny teeth as he leans over the counter to get a paper and pen. Frank absolutely does not catch a glimpse of what must be the most attractive, slightly chubby ass on the entire east coast. „It’s rather that my shift’s over in like, forty minutes and and I’m not spending one second longer in this shithole than I absolutely have to.“

He purses his lips thoughtfully and scribbles ‚Frank – Mix‘ onto the paper while mumbling silently to himself. „Hold that thought.“ He says out of the blue and if off to the rock section again, leaving Frank and Brendon behind with no other choice but to follow him. 

The next half and hour goes by with Gerard shuffling through several records while mumbling to himself through the entire process, occasionally writing down a couple of tracks here and there, turning CD’s around to check the titles and so on. He also doesn’t miss out on ordering Frank and Brendon around the store to bring him some records while he is busy like he hasn’t done anything else in his entire life, and after thirty minutes they have about twenty to thirty tracks that look promising, the half of which Frank doesn’t recognize. 

He totally trusts Gerard on that one though.

„Okay, so I think this is the maximum I can get out of my remaining time.“ Gerard exhales and hands Frank the paper full with his messy scrawl, tapping along the inked rows with his pen as he explains the paper, other hand gesturing widely in that pinky-protuding way that is just fucking hilarious and adorable. „I was thinking about some Garage Rock with a little Glam, cause you can’t expect me to pick out rock music without sneaking some Glam in there, a little Punk that is not ear rape and some classics like Zep and weird shit like Sonic Youth, even though I hate them, but at the same time you can’t go wrong with their music since it’s the same with abstract art, right? Nobody understands it but it must be good because it’s hanging from a fucking museum wall.“

Frank bursts out in laughter. „Oh my god, same. You can never go wrong with a few weird, psychedelic tracks in between. That’s fucking great, thank you so much, really.“

Gerard blushes shyly and awkwardly looks into the distance. „It’s no big deal, really. I was glad to help. What’s still the problem though is that you still need like, a hundred more songs till tomorrow…“

Frank sighs and his stomach drops as he remembers. Damn, that sure will take a lot of fucking exhausting hours at home to complete. „It’ll work out somehow, you did help a fucking lot, you know?“

„Okay, so to interrupt all the thankfulness, I’m going to express my own endless gratitude as well, and disappear, because I have places to be and people to see.“ Brendon suddenly says, salutes Gerard and squeezes Frank’s side a little to hard, causing him to yelp embarrassingly. „Thanks a lot Gerard, you did a fucking amazing job. See ya later!“ And he is out the door before Frank can´protest, leaving the two behind.

„If he shoplifted that Sinatra CD, I’m afraid I am going to have to hunt him down.“ Gerard sighs and keeps his eyes trained on Brendon’s figure inching closer to the secured entrance gates of the store.  
„Oh my god, how could you tell?“ Frank laughs, because really, he can so imagine the alarm going off leading to an exposed Brendon running for his life with like, eight identical Sinatra CD’s hidden in the pockets of his hoodie.

„Trust me, I deal with teenagers all that time that have the same look in their eyes whenever they pass the Falling in Reverse and Pierce the Veil department. I call it the ‚obsessed but fucking poor‘ look.“

„Those four words are a perfect description of his life.“ Frank laughs.

An awkward silence stretches between them and Frank kind of really doesn’t want to go home yet and begin with spending the entirety of his evening panicking because of something he actually loves to do.

Gerard seems to be hesitant for some reason too, Frank recognizes him scratching under his chin being his equivalent to Frank rubbing the back of his neck. He opens his mouth though before Frank can kind of awkwardly say goodbye or something.

„So on a scale from one to ‚dude, cut off that pornstache‘, how creepy would it be if I asked you to come over to mine and we’ll pick out the rest form my own record stash and get it done together?“

Frank chuckles and desperately tries to fight the blush rising up to his cheeks while simultaneously trying to tell his lungs how to work properly and also doing his best to come up with something halfway smooth to reply in order to conceal the fucking stroke he is just experiencing because his brain is only now realizing that, holy shit, Gerard Way has fucking invited him to his home, oh my God. 

„Well, seeing as there is no other option than me completing it in a totally terrible way at home, I’m gonna give you a 31.“

„Aww what, only 31? I was rooting for at least a 60 or something.“ Gerard grins and nods his head in direction of the cash register, ready to get the fuck out of here. „We’ll get it done quicker together, you’ll be fine.“

„You really mean that? Dude.“ Frank breathes and somehow there is a tiny flicker of hope erupting in his chest, a flicker of hope that he actually might get that fucking mix done and it won’t be the shittiest thing he has ever done in his life, apart from maybe the time in high school he thought it was funny to get high behind the bleachers and get so stoned he didn’t even realize the janitor was dragging him to the principal until he was practically being pushed into the uncomfortable metal chair. 

Dark past. 

„Of course, can’t have you break an other toe.“ Gerard winks and ushers Jason aside to type something into the computer quickly and disappear in a back room. 

Frank and Jason just stare at each other awkwardly, Frank having the tact to avert his eyes and pretend to find the Biffy Clyro special offers incredibly interesting, but no, the guy’s stare is so intense on him it gives him fucking anxiety. What’s his problem, man, back the fuck up.

Just kidding, Frank is a skinny twig and definitely wouldn’t even leave a scratch on that guy.

Anyway, Gerard saves him from his misery a couple of minutes later as he pushes open the door, now dressed in, thank God, looser fitting casual clothing while slinging his weird, arty messenger bag over his shoulder and jingling his car keys between pale fingers. „You need a ride or are you okay?“  
„Now that you mention it, I could use a lift, Brendon was my only source of transportation.“ Frank rolls his eyes, cursing himself for not thinking about driving here separately and how his car is still standing outside the parlor. Not that anyone would ever get the idea to steal the rusty thing, but still, a drop of rain and there is no guarantee the piece of shit will ever drive again and Frank absolutely doesn’t favor the idea of asking his parents to buy him a new one, thank you very much.

„So get in then.“ Gerard nods with a smile and points to an equally run down, but still (kind of) black car in the shady looking employee parking lot.

 

[†]

 

„Okay, but why does the two of us hanging out together always involve alcohol?“ Frank giggles as he sits down on the inviting, fluffy but worn carpet of Gerard’s living room, eyes roaming over the poster-clad walls instead of roaming over other things that are presenting themselves pretty nicely to him as Gerard dives into his fridge to retrieve a couple of beers.

„Oh, I wouldn’t say always, I would just call it two unlucky consecutive occurrences that both involved a lot of stress and the need of killing off a few brain cells.“ He passes Frank a bottle and a weirdly shaped metal bottle opener, which Frank gladly accepts. „Besides, were not getting drunk, were getting in the mood, just like Bowie snorted like a few lines of coke each time he started to art, were just doing that too.“ Gerard wiggles his eyebrows and places his own beer down onto the ground, expertly balancing it on the carpet.

„Whatever you say.“

„Okay, let’s get started.“ Gerard leaves the room and comes back with a huge box in hands, panting slightly, noodle arms obviously struggling to keep the heavy weight of the thing up. Frank twitches to give Gerard a hand, because that’s the gentleman he is, but he just dismissively tilts his chin upward and carefully sets it down with a slightly pained groan, pressing a hand into the small of his back. „I’m really getting too old for this shit.“ Gerard sighs and crosses his legs to plop down across from Frank a little very much gracefully. 

„Aw, I bet that’s not true.“ Frank smiles and curiously eyes the frayed lid of the box, fingers itching to lift the top and see what’s inside. It is rather large, at least three feet long and two feet wide.

„Oh, you tell me when you have the bones of like, a seventy year old inside of a 24 year old body.“ Gerard chuckles and lifts the lid off to reveal several CD’s and vinyls almost mathematically stacked and sorted into orderly rows. It sure is overflowing at this point, if Gerard decided to buy one more CD or vinyl, the already dangerously fragile edges of the box would surely burst.

„Yeah, I pack my CD’s and vinyls into boxes, don’t look at it like that. They don’t fit anywhere anymore and I’m not really keen on creating even more of a mess in this shitty apartment than there already is.“ Gerard chuckles as Frank’s eyes budge out of his head, just watching as Gerard begins to slowly and precisely lift the stacks out of the box and place them between and around them. 

„At least they're all tidily sorted in there.“ Frank reaches into the box as well, helping Gerard to make some progress as unpacking the sheer amount of music is going to take a lot of time should he let Gerard do the unpacking alone. He spots a few albums he knows, surprised to see that Gerard actually does own the entire Black Flag discography. „Mine are literally piling in every creek of my apartment and it’s becoming a problem.“

Gerard smiles and pulls out a sticker-littered laptop from under some ugly ass, huge armchair with old, fancy embroilment and opens youtube. „What can I say, I am too poor for Spotify.“ 

„Same, all my money goes into guitar equipment.“ Frank sighs. „It has it’s upsides though, you become the master of illegal downloads.“

„I am the master of the wicked.“

Frank reaches into his pocket and produces the crumpled sheet that contains the plus thirty songs, letting it gracefully sail to the ground between them. „Okay, so I was thinking.“ He looks around and picks up a blank piece of paper and some black pencil to write something down. „We can make a list of tracks sorted by artists or genres and then put them in an order where they don’t necessarily come after the other. Then we MP3-Juices this shit and burn them to CD and then that shit will fucking finally be done. Sound good?“

Gerard nods enthusiastically and takes a long swig of his beer. „Let’s do this.“

[†]

 

„You like Blur?“ Gerard asks, digging out the classic, yellow self titled album.

„Yeah, they’re pretty cool, I guess.“ Frank grunts distractedly as he secretly turns around Give me Convenience or give me Death by the Dead Kennedys and sneaks Police Truck and Holiday in Cambodia onto the list. He trusts Gerard to help him pick out tracks that will actually please Bob, but there is no way he is going to completely lay off Punk even though Bob wants him to. Hardcore, okay, he can understand, but still, Punk’s gotta stay.

„And the Hives?“

„Knock yourself out, they’re pretty good.“ Frank shrugs and grabs an other stack of records to skim them for ones he is familiar with. „Oooooh, Iron Maiden?“ He fans the ten plus records into Gerard’s direction. „You never told me you liked them.“

„Oh really? They’re one of my favorites, I’m kind of disappointed my drunk self didn't mention them.“ Gerard rolls his eyes and snatches half the CD’s out of Frank’s hands. „Write down whatever you want, your Boss will have to deal with good music.“ 

Frank smiles lopsidedly at Gerard through his dark bangs. Now this kind of work is something he could get used to. Besides having Gerard helping him is tons of fun, the guy constantly hums one tune after the other, adorably imitating the sounds of guitar solos and drum fills with pursed pink lips and making Frank write some albums that he thinks he’ll like into his phone so he can listen to them at home.

„How ‘bout Black Keys?“ 

„Nah, they’re like… too soft, gotta keep up a rep here.“ Frank absent-mindedly chews his fingernail and opens some Sex Pistols on Youtube, quietly so it doesn’t disturb Gerard, who is quietly humming more melodic tunes under his breath.

„13th Floor Elevators?“

„Don’t know if more psychedelic is the right thing to do, to be honest.“

„Oasis?“

„Ugh, they really don’t do it for me.“

„Bowie?“ Gerard looks up to Frank hopefully.

„I mean he’s good, but… does it fit with the rest?“

„Suede?“

„Meh, how about some Nirvana?“

„Oh my God, give me a break, this is getting too hard.“ Gerard sighs and lifts himself off the ground, swaying a little while muttering something under his breath about his fucked up circulatory system and walks to the kitchen. The sound of glasses clinking against each other like some broken fucking marimba to the music playing from the stuttering Youtube is hilarious to Frank, but he really starts laughing as Gerard re-enters the living room with a fucking funnel in one hand and a tequila bottle in the other. 

„Seriously, what the actual fuck is this going to be?“ Frank snorts and decides to lay off the sneaking 

„I need something harder to not be mentally scarred by you discriminating against my music, it’s to dull the paaain.“ Gerard sing-songs good-naturedly as he slowly begins to fill the Tequila into his bottle concentratively, slowly with his eyes trained on the plastic funnel as if he was afraid to fuck up.

„But really, who spikes their beer with Tequila.“ Frank frowns and contemplates holding out his own bottle, just to see what it tastes like, because man, he’s never heard of that before. He bets it’s fucking gross.

„Can’t afford Desperado's, this way the drink has like, a higher price-performance ratio.“

„Oh, look at you, all Warren Buffet up this bitch.“ Frank laughs and makes grabby hands at the bottle of cheap alcohol probably purchased from the dodgy liquor store down the street. That dude has a serious case of greasy mustache, holy shit. „I wanna try too. Pass it muchacho.“

„This is so gonna go downhill.“ Gerard sighs but hands Frank the bottle anyway, who is having an other giggle fit as he places the funnel into his beer bottle opening. „I wouldn’t be surprised if we find some Blood on the dance floor on the playlist tomorrow.“

„Same.“ Frank says slowly in concentration. „Still can’t get over the fact that the White Stripes can’t reunite but those fuckers can.“

„Stop mentioning that, that fact is the cause for like, sixty percent of my poor mental health.“

„The world is a cruel place, Gerard.“

 

[†]

 

Frank doesn’t know when, but around midnight (or some time very late, because the other apartment windows visible out the single window have lost their lights), the two of them are surrounded by a horrible mess of Cd’s and vinyls strewn all across the carpet, Frank with the ugly armchair supporting his frame and Gerard laying on his back, laptop balanced on his chest with his chin doubling up adorably as he tries to get an acceptable view of the screen that is illuminating his soft features with a metallic blueish hue. 

Papers full with scrawly handwriting that is either intensely circled or more angrily than necessarily crossed out are all over the floor and every surface, the larger paper with the grid responsible for sorting the tracks after like, genre and artist or whatever, has been defeatedly crumpled and tossed at the ceiling fan because to be realistic, none of the two is actually capable of executing a such strict plan, what were they thinking. 

„Wanna watch some TV? I’m dying to get some background Family Feud or something buzzing“ Gerard asks, fumbling for what Frank assumes to be the remote in the folds of the weirdly-patterned beanbag. Really, everything in Gerard’s apartment is as mismatched as if someone had made it a personal competition to visit IKEA and chose the most unfitting pieces of furniture and just go for it.

„You got Netflix?“

Gerard shoots him a bored but amused look and exhales a satisfied and triumphant huff of air when he produces the remote from the weird, grandma-flowery beanbag. „I’m too poor for Spotify and the Sky I am about to pull up is illegally obtained by my former boyfriend and it’s additionally ripped from fucking Russia, so does it look like I can afford Netflix?“

Frank laughs, eyes following the weird bald probably fake as hell cook trying to convince the audience that they totally need that useless oversized pan you can also make lasagna in or something. „Seems like a rad dude.“ He says, because really, how cool is that, free Sky plus the gangster-living-on-the-edge illegal side effect, that is, in fact, rad. 

He realizes his mistake though as Gerard flinches and presses his lips together and averts his eyes from the TV where now, after he has changed a couple of channels, Before I Forget by Slipknot is playing. It takes his a couple of moments to frown his eyebrows and open his mouth slowly to give Frank at least some kind of answer, but Frank decides to let the guy off since he clearly isn’t in the mood to talk about that guy. 

See, Frank isn’t just an egoistic ass, he can be insightful as well, fuck you Patrick.

„Not the hottest topic, I get it, sorry.“ He says into the awkward silence and pulls an apologetic face. „So what about White Stripes? I was thinking about adding at least one or two tracks by them.“ He asks instead and points to the red/white albums that are surprisingly still stacked and not taken apart next to Gerard’s beer, from their self-titled record to Icky Thump.

And indeed, Gerard’s eyes, still kind of sad, light up a little as he starts to mumble to himself while turning each CD around and occasionally scribbling down tracks, of course not without circling them or writing a small message next to it. With Frank changing the channel on the TV again because he simply can’t handle the Smiths playing from youtube, Slipknot thrumming away on MTV and Gerard humming Blue Orchid (a/n: Imagine Gerard doing that) not exactly quietly at the same time, they are now rummaging through Gerard’s record collection again, Frank occasionally picking up one he recognizes while simultaneously browsing youtube for songs he thinks could fit the overall vibe of the mix so far.

After the eighty-third song he can feel his eyelids start to droop and his vision become fuzzy with every time he tries to blink it away, but he decides to power through a couple of more Pulp songs since Gerard has casually dropped that they are one of his all time favorites and he can tell it makes Gerard happy by the way he bobs his head absent-mindedly, no, almost like, reflexively to the beat of The Fear, so he decides to play the next one that follows up on Youtube and so on.

Soon, Gerard is just lazily tumbling through his vinyl stash with no real purpose or goal and directs his already limited attention to the television too where Mall Cop has decided to be on at like what, three in the morning?

Both of them are fucking exhausted out of their minds, because man, you try coming up with a decent Mixtape that won’t have your nazi boss castrating you if it’s poorly done when your music taste is too ‚hard and screamo’ for his liking, man, that takes the life out of you and it’s not an easy thing to do. 

In Frank’s opinion though, they have done a fucking decent job, powering through both Gerard’s music and Frank’s more than occasional recommendations that Gerard was more than willing to give a listen pretty constantly and efficiently, and after what feels like thirty years of hunger and drought, believe it or not, the two have actually managed to get together one hundred to one hundred and twenty tracks. 

The combination of all kinds of tracks are exactly what Bob would appreciate and probably even burn to CD himself and listen to in his snobby Mercedes, if you ask Frank. They cary from Gerard’s beloved Smiths to less glam-my rock over some classic rock up to some softer quote ‚not ear-rape Punk‘ and some psychedelic tracks and space Rock mixed in to ‚shake things up‘, or so Gerard said, but the truth was he just couldn’t let Frank go without contributing at least Space Oddity because seriously, that track is like, a must.

And since both of the mare pretty knocked out and satisfied, neither of them cares as both of them slowly but steadily slip into the realm of darkness and dreams, lulled to sleep by the sound of mall cop fucking trying to slide behind a pillar to go unnoticed but not managing and kind of skipping there on his belly. 

Well, waking up is going to be awkward as fuck, Frank thinks as he is positively sure he just cricked his neck on the rest of the arm chair his head is leaning on at a weird angle. 

But eh, whatever, the most important and urgent thing on Frank’s mind right now is how quick his brain will stop pulling him from sleep and just let him be, Jeeze, he has worked really hard today and feels like deserves to get a wink of sleep especially now, even though it means rudely passing out in a guy’s apartment he has met like, a week ago while leaning against some armchair and not even attempting to clean up any of the mess that he has to at least 50% contributed in producing. 

Frank huffs into the soft fabric of his cardigan contently as he finally feels sleep washing over him. 

He’s got the weird feeling that tomorrow will be a less shitty day.

He’ll help Gerard with all that tomorrow.

Just… not now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee, let's see when the next one will be posted, I think it won't take like, a bazillion years to post for a change, but then again, it's me we're talking about so you can't really be sure.
> 
> Ok but I am listening to nothing else but El Camino by the Black Keys at the moment, it has kind of become my album for the summer '17 along with anything by Marmozets. Don't know how to feel about their new music though, it sounds kind of poppy. Give me back that math rock vibe!
> 
> Anyhoo, stay tuned peeps, I just like to rant.


	6. /6/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, look at me, busting out an other chapter after what feels like three years.
> 
> Here I am at it again, having Gerard wake up at the beginning of a chapter.  
> Seriously, what is this fic even.
> 
> I wrote part of this chapter partially blind on a car ride b/c I had it outlined in bullet points on a piece of paper that I balanced on my laptop screen in order to see it properly so yeah.
> 
> Which of course means my spelling is worse than the drastic drop of temperature here where I live.
> 
> Tried to catch all of the mistakes but u just
> 
> never kno
> 
> Enjoyyy

Ok, Gerard has woken up in all kinds of weird situations, some of which he doesn’t even want to think about without bile rising up in his throat or more shame than his poor heart can take beginning to course through his veins. 

Which means his expectations for what is considered a peaceful morning is have gone down drastically in the last five years, the fact that none of his mornings are very peaceful since he is a chronic over-sleeper with tendency to being tortured by nightmares and slight insomnia hasn’t exactly made his state of awakening any easier or more blissful.

All in all: fuck mornings and waking up in general, no matter what time of day it is. He has learned to not be particularly picky about that.

This morning, however, is quite different from the ones he usually experiences. Okay, not that different at first as he wakes up on the hard floor, arm tucked under his head to not let it like, crack open on the floor with his back straining uncomfortably at an angle he wan’t aware it could perform, cheek digging into something… hard and slightly pointy?  
Snuffling in a way that is less cute but probably kind of gross, he slowly, sleepy shakes his head confusedly, prying his eyelids open and cursing himself for keeping his contacts in while sleeping fucking again, causing the sand to practically glue them together. He will never learn.

Coming to senses slowly but steadily, he realizes it was a fucking Cd that has been pressed into his face and has probably left a mark behind that is probably not going to go away that quickly anytime. Fuck. But then again, when has he even been one to give that many shits about his looks.

He rolls onto his back but quickly flinches and reconsiders when a couple of Cd’s crackle under the weight of his torso, so forceful sitting up with following dizziness because his entire circulation is probably fucked up, it is. 

He is prepared for the dizziness, clouding his vision and making grey dots appear in front of his vision that make it impossible for him to see for like, five seconds straight, but what he absolutely isn't prepared for is Frank sleeping soundly against the backrest of his armchair, looking absolutely peaceful with his soft lips parted just the slightest bit, tattooed hand cradles against his shallowly rising and falling chest protectively. 

He hums in his sleep softly, a lock of hair falling over his gently shut eyes and even though it practically hurts Gerard to have to rip him out of his peaceful slumber, the (probably) correct clock hanging off his opposite of him shows it’s already seven o’clock, which means the two of them are in desperate need to wake up in order to get to their jobs, or art school in Gerard’s case, in time. 

Instead of now just aimlessly staring ahead of himself, Gerard takes a look around himself and a helpless groan forces itself out of his throat when he spots the mess around them that they have created. Basically all of his records are every fucking where and strewn across the carpet and basically the entire room.

Man, that will take some time to clean up.

An other reason for getting up is the TV from yesterday that is still running, some zoo show on that portray how to properly feed bears and clean scorpion cages or something.

To his surprise, apparently his groan has woken up Frank, who is still a little groggy and is gingerly rubbing the side of his tattooed neck. Gerard feels kind of guilty now, he shouldn’t have indulged into the alluring temptation of sleep in the early morning hours, but he just couldn’t help himself, the fluffy ground was too tempting not to just black out on.

He silently watches Frank slightly disbelievingly just staring at the ground for a couple of minutes, round hazel eyes roaming over the floor once, twice.

„What are you thinking about?“ Gerard mumbles, the words kind of running into each other and tripping over themselves since he ye has to warm up his vocal chords in order to function properly. He can see a flicker of an exhausted smile dance across Frank’s lips, because there hasn’t been anyone who hasn’t found Gerard’s morning voice not funny. 

„I’m thinking about how much time we will need to clean up this mess.“ He sighs, shoulders dropping dispiritedly and damn, Gerard has to stop soaking up every single movement Frank does in his short but precious morning-dazed state or he’ let himself be persuaded to not leave the house at all.

„Same. We should get started now, though, if you want to like, get to work or whatever you have to do.“

„Oh, look at you being all planning forward and shit.“ Frank smiles slowly and stretches his arms over his head in one fluid motion.

Gerard, for the sake of his own health, decides to continue watching how bears react to certain types of vegetables instead of admiring how gorgeously scrunched up Frank’s freckle-dusted face is and how adorable his sleepy eye bags look, because he can handle a lot of distraction, but too much for two days in a row is just plain not healthy for his poor, overworked brain. 

Instead, he just lifts an arm to swipe away a slightly unwashed black strand of hair or two, only to drop it to the ground lifelessly again. He needs a fucking haircut. 

„I really really don’t want to get up.“ Frank moans from the armchair and Gerard huffs out a laugh in synch with Frank. 

„Me neither, but, hate to break it to you, there is no other option.“

Frank sighs deeply and drags himself into sitting position, legs crossed and swaying a little. „I’ll clean this shit up in under a sec if you shut off that TV, I can’t deal with bears that won’t eat moulded strawberries right now.“ Frank rolls his eyes playfully at the bear refusing to eat the food the caretaker prepared for it and begins to pile together the Blur Cds in front of him. „Also, I hate scorpions, gah.“

„You have one on your neck though?“ Gerard asks curiously and, of course, using the question as an opportunity to get an other glimpse of Frank’s beautifully tattooed, tanned neck and joins Frank to place one more or less neat stack into the box.

„It was a rebellious act, don’t question it.“ Frank smirks good-naturedly, leaning over the beanbag to retrieve an entire stack of harder music that has somehow found it’s way there though sorting process back there. Gerard is just about to ask him if he is alright when he comes back with a few sheets of papers that Gerard is pretty positive he has drawn on. 

Oh boy, here it comes. 

„You draw?“ Frank asks, eyes wide, and Gerard finds himself surprised when he sees actual, genuine awe and interest in Frank’s expression, not the weirded out and repelled one coated with a layer of fake sweetness he usually gets. 

„Yeah, I’m in my last year of art school, it’s a project we have to come up with and expand.“

„Oh?“ Frank raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued and Gerard doesn’t now how to handle that. His parents have never had a very high opinion of his art, not at all, his mother being the stiff-lipped, jewelry-clad suburban cougar of whatever and his dad desperately still aiming for at least one of his children to turn out ‚right‘ and follow his failed path into becoming a boring, rich businessman.

Which is exactly why he left home, even though he could have stayed there for sure, he just couldn’t take the pressure anymore, it was affecting everything, his mental health, his art, his creativity.

The pressure however, was on Mikey the entire time when he was gone, Gerard assumes, and he can’t help but feel a little guilty about it. Mikey has always been closer to his parents and they always have had a closer, tighter bond, but now that he had to out himself, they have probably treated him the exact same way the have treated Gerard when he told them he was going to art school no matter what since that is the life he chose and is going to pursue. 

Whelp, looks like his parents have raised not one, but two ‚disappointments‘.

„And what kind of project is that?“ Frank manages to rip Gerard out of his self-pitying daydream, inspecting the paper more closely, watching the black and white painting fade in and out of darkness and light.

„We must to come up with something that contains an art part, but is kind of complex at the same time, it can be anything. It can be illustrations to a book, but you also have to come up with a story to it, for example. I chose the idea of a concept album, because they're just fucking awesome.“ Gerard grins, flushing slightly as Frank traces his thumb over the black an white ink painting quickly scribbled down onto the absorbent paper. It was something Gerard came up with in the middle of the night, kind of like a extension of his dreams, if you will, and finished it the next day. 

„Is that like, a parade?“

„Yeah, kind of the place you go to when you die, like heaven. Or hell, whatever.“ Gerard explains and Frank smiles to himself. „It’s a work in progress.“

„I love it.“ He says and Gerard is about to say thank you, like he always does when people try to make him confident about his creations, but Frank is quicker. „No, I really mean that, this is really fucking good, you should make something out of it.“

Gerard, now flustered and awkward because he does not know how to deal with compliments and praise, just nods and diverts his attention to the mess that is still on the ground and is still a fucking exhausting problem they have to solve. „Now let’s get started or we’ll never get away from here.“ 

Both of them, still sleepy and not rested at all, speed clean the entire room, stacking Cd’s, throwing away papers and writing the actual numerations of the tracks down, and hardly fifteen minutes later – with both of them participating equally since Frank’s a fucking decent person – one could say that the room looks practically squeaky clean, but then again it has never been anywhere near clean before, so they just settle for the satisfying result of ‚it looks like it has before‘.

„Oh my God, I almost forgot. Thanks a lot, you know?“ Frank suddenly says a little hesitantly while dusting off his jeans and adjusting the hem of his shirt. „I really really appreciate you being so fucking kind to me, helping even though you literally have no reason to. You’re a fucking amazing person.“

Gerard curses his skin for turning against him and pumping felt tons of blood into his face and shrugs in a way he hopes comes across as less flustered and more neutral. „Don’t worry about it, really, I am happy to help. I’d rather be thanking you for helping me clean up this hell of a mess, I’d be here all day on my own.“

„Dude, that’s like, a natural thing to do.“ Frank shakes his head and places the last couple of vinyls they had carefully disposed into the corner of the room on top of the other records. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair before letting out a massive yawn that is damn contagious, the absence of caffeine in his system suddenly hitting Gerard like truck.

„Oh Lord, what were we even thinking, performing actual physical exertion without having coffee before.“ Gerard groans and Frank lets out a defeated noise that only vaguely sounds like something affirmative.

„You got any?“

Gerard sighs deeply. „I ran out yesterday since I have absolutely no overview of my food and fridge in general, so we’d have to get out and get some. That okay with you?“

„Of course, as long as they don’t only serve that brutally sweet disgusting stuff I’m in.“

„Hey, I like the disgusting stuff. It’s what gets me through the day.“ Gerard gasps and presses a hand to his chest, faking immense offense. „It’s not the greatest place, but it’s cheap and close, so that’s a plus.“

„Sure, I’m in. Anything for the coffee.“

„Agreed.“

Gerard can tell Frank is kind of reluctant to leave in the way he lingers at every piece of furniture he passes, inspecting Gerard’s several weird, from all over the world (aka all the thrift stores) collected random shit that piles up in every corner and on every surface. He takes special time to admire the skull shaped ashtray a homeless man gave Gerard and then just ran away and has since become his probably most loved possession.

„Man, I’ve got an appointment with some girl today that I accidentally held a thirty minute speech about how a tattoo gun works even though it scared the hell out of her and she was only eyeing it wearily. She really hates me.“ Frank answers and puts on his ratty but still as vintage passing black converse with a slightly smudged ‚REVENGE‘ written on the inside with bright red marker in blocky letters. Fucking rad. „Needless to say, I’m not that good at reading people.“

„I can’t believe that. How so?“ Gerard purses his lips, frowning, and slips on his own, sadly not so badass converse on that have turned into more of an dirty, ashy gray then the white they have once been years ago. 

„Well ,according to Patrick–

„Isn’t that the guy Pete was dating once?“

„Nah, that’s just wishful thinking of Brendon and me.“ Frank giggles affectionately and dramatically sighs but smiles to much for it to be not fake as hell. „They are just like, best friends or something, even though I do most of his tattoos and he has never actually gotten one from Patrick. Anyway, according to Patrick there is few things I am worse at than reading people. Which I maybe am, but I’m not going to admit that the guy is right, ever.“

„I’m fairly certain that is not the case.“ Gerard just fucking has to say, because, as has been elaborated more closely in his like, this entire story, he is a huge dork with a soft spot for certain dark haired guys with inked skin and round, hazel eyes and quirky lips. To at least preserve some of the little to none image he has, he fumbles with his keys and wallet he always deposits in the weirdly shaped key-bowl thing and opens the door for the two of them to step out into the actual world.

„Aw, stop it you.“ Frank cheekily grins and is out the door, turning around to face Gerard, the already disgustingly hot wind blowing through his short hair. 

They are mere five steps out of the door when it hits Gerard that he fucking forgot the CD he had burned the songs to in his apartment. Fucking smart, Gerard, you go, how about you let all the work go to waste and forget such an important thing like that. 

Well, at least he doesn’t have to be afraid of him changing.

Frank’s eyes widen as Gerard wordlessly presses the Cd with messy marker scrawl reading ‚Frank – Mix‘ on it in Gerard’s handwriting into Frank’s chest, who just cradles it against it, careful to not break it or something in surprise. „When the hell did you burn that to Cd?“

„I did it when some time later on, you didn’t notice? I swore quite a lot because I’m not that technologically advanced at all and shit.“

„Nah, I was too busy trying to sneak some Punk into the mix.“ Frank confesses and laughs at the fake disapproving look Gerard shoots him. 

Frank thanks Gerard one more time, which leads to Gerard answering something around the lines of him shoving Frank down a flight of stairs that’ll leave him with more than a broken toe if he doesn’t stop saying thank you because damn, it was just a human thing to do, okay.

Frank just sticks his tongue out and mockingly says thank you one more time and awkwardly fucking grabs Gerard by the arm, that is supposed to be like, a gesture of gratitude or something but is nothing else than a form of violation of personal space that in turn makes Gerard jump and Frank retreat his arm immediately, and shit, they just really can’t act like regular people around each other, really, this shouldn’t be so hard, should it?

The doors of Gerard’s car fall shut rather deafeningly as they close them almost synchronically (because it’s a cheap piece of shit) and as he had assumed, today is one of those fucking great days the AC isn’t working. Wowee, sweating bullets in this already unfairly hot car it is, then, thank you technology. 

Frank smirks at him sideways when he turns on the car and his Strokes Cd starts to play. „Man, I wish I didn’t have work today, this is totally what I would listen to on like, a road trip or something.“ Frank sighs and rolls down his window to let the passing wind whip around his face and arm dangerously dangling out of it.

„Your idea of road trip music is weird.“ Gerard laughs and they discuss what should count as official road trip music until they pull up to the parking lot, parking in the disabled parking accidentally because once he sees that awfully cheap coffee bean banner flapping happily in the humid breeze, he can’t really focus on anything else. 

Seems like Frank is kind of on the same trip since he doesn’t bother correcting him either but rather opens the passenger door while Gerard is still slowly but steadily adjusting his car into correct position and just jumps out.

They enter the coffee shop, the kitschy bell jingling above them in a sweet melody that neither of them is able to appreciate since they are both horrible coffee addicts who’s desperation is rapidly coming to punch them straight into the face. 

Gerard confidently strides towards the counter where a blonde, friendly looking woman is fulfilling her probably ridiculously underpaid duty behind, obviously a little tired and exhausted too, but Frank suddenly stops in his tracks, causing Gerard to awkwardly whip his head back and come to a halt as well in the middle of the shop. „What’s wrong?“ He asks, frowning a little at Frank’s devastated look.

„I don’t have any money on me.“ Frank pats down the pockets of his jeans hectically and groans, punching the bridge of his nose. „I left it in my car.“

Gerard exhales the stressed breath he has been holding, relieved it’s nothing like, drastic or anything. „Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll pay for you, it’s no big deal.“

Frank sighs again and gives Gerard a suspicious look. „You really mean that? I can tell you are the type who will absolutely refuse to let me give you the money back afterwards, and while that’s fucking rad I really wouldn’t like to be the cause of your financial breakdown at the end of this month.“

Gerard chuckles but waves Frank off. „It’s okay man, I may be fucking poor, but that is because I do spend a lot of money on coffee, so buying you one is kind of in the budget.“

„You are my hero.“ Frank pulls his lips into the fucking adorable lopsided grin, and at this point Gerard probably wouldn’t or rather couldn’t say no even if Frank wanted him to buy like, the entire store or something. 

Gerard thanks whatever Gods exist that there is no line because he doesn’t think he can go without his daily dose of overpriced caffeine any longer or he will simply collapse to the ground. Frank gets black coffee with fucking no milk and sugar and Gerard chooses the probably most creamy, disgustingly sweet thing on the entire menu, but he lives for that shit, so leave him the fuck alone. 

They both share a laugh when they both raise a critical eyebrow at either ones choice of beverage. 

Luckily, not that many people have decided to show up at the shop today, despite it being a regular work and school day where people are usually desperate to bustle into the shop at all times during the morning, so they chose a seat that quite often is taken, a cozy little table with two benches next to the slightly milky glass window giving a fantastically boring view to the mediocrely busy highway leading past it.

However, before he can sit down, Gerard’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls the battered piece of shit out only to see that Lindsey has texted him. 

Sighing, he opens his messenger app mentally preparing himself for what she is going to harass him with today. He’s not one to text when hanging out with people, really, Gerard is probably the most anti-tecnology person you can possibly meet, he only upgraded himself from Nokia brick phone to second hand Motorola three months ago, but you never know with Lindsey so it might be worth checking what she has to say. She can go from ‚oh, look at this kitty riding a motorcycle‘ to ‚Pete just called me and there’s something wrong with Mikey‘.

Not gonna take any chances there, even if that means being kind of anti social. 

Sorry Frank.

 

Lyn-Z: morning~  
Lyn-Z: how are you doing?  
Lyn-Z: that is if you’re awake yet  
Lyn-Z: which i hope you are because you tend to fuck up when i’m not there

G: I am, in fact awake, surprise  
G: Also, I can care for myself well enough, thank you very much

Lyn-Z: sure you can  
Lyn-Z: anyway  
Lyn-Z: how is your date with frank going?

G: It’s not a fucking date, Linds  
G: Wait, how did you know that

Lyn-Z: Word travels quickly in a small place like this

„Who’re you texting?“ Frank curiously leans forward slightly, still sipping on his coffee, eyes trained on Gerard’s hands typing away on his phone, and even though he can’t possibly see his and Lindsey’s conversation the way he is sitting on the other side of the table, Gerard’s heart still stops for a second and he clutches it to his chest protectively. 

„Woah rude.“ Gerard laughs and turns off his phone screen for good measure, good old paranoia kicking in, but he quickly tries to be some sort of normal and sets it down. He decides to ignore the buzzing once and then a few more times quickly in a row, signalizing Lindsey’s weird, short typing style. „It’s just the usual, Lindsey knowing what the fuck we’re up to even though she should have like, absolutely no information.“

„Oh boo, I bet Brendon snitched on us. He probably told Pete and he told Mikey and so on. Our friends have away too intricate weaves of connection going on, how do they do it? I mean, that would totally wear me out, man.“ Frank pouts and crosses his tattooed arms over his chest.

„Well, knowing her, that is quite possible.“ Gerard shrugs and decides to pick up the phone to check Lindsey’s replies. „Let’s see if that theory is true.“

 

Lyn-Z: just kidding i ran into a guy called brendon while shopping with pete earlier the day  
Lyn-Z: he’s a fucking rad guy you warm up to him real quick  
Lyn-Z: i think i made a new friend  
Lyn-Z: let’s hang out with him sometime  
Lyn-Z: anyway  
Lyn-Z: he tattoos at the same parlor frank does, crazy, right?  
Lyn-Z: he told me EVERYTHING about the two of you  
Lyn-Z: anyway, what can i say, you sure are one helpful guy ;)

 

„Something like that.“ Gerard turns his phone around, screen down and doesn’t bother answering her texts since he thinks he has been enough of a dick for ignoring Frank for now. „Apparently she’s friends with Brendon now, oh Lord.“

Frank laughs quietly to himself. „I can totally see that happening. They both are quite…“

„…energetic and way too social for their own good.“ Gerard finishes and Frank nods, mutely since he went back to sip at the dark bitter liquid, making an agreeing, throaty sound instead.

Gerard briefly wonders if the biter taste would linger on his lips, but no, just. Ugh, stop. Gerard scolds himself for the next minute they spend in comfortable silence, Gerard watching the battered cars taking their owners to their individual destinations while Frank huddles deeper into that weird but adorable beige cardigan since the AC is way to strong in the small building.

Just when the two are about to finish their drinks and get the hell out of here, suddenly Frank’s phone begins to buzz in his pocket, the quiet drumbeat of Rise above muffled by the layers of clothing. Gerard is surprised to find out it is an even more outdated and shitty model Gerard possesses and is additionally covered with kind of gross looking, worn off stickers.

Frank raises his eyebrows and turns around the screen to Gerard, who rolls his eyes when he spots Lindsey’s number flashing across the cracked display. 

„Hello?“ Frank answers the persistent rings with a sideway smile, looking off into the distance while taking an other gulp of the last fifth of remaining coffee. After a couple of ‚yeah’s and ‚okay’s and the occasional ‚um’s, and one time Frank turns unexpectedly red, Frank presses the end call button and tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

„Okay, but Lindsey and I, we need to talk, seriously, how does she have my number? She texted me before the MSI gig even though we have never exchanged numbers too.“ He laughs and quickly finishes off the last drops of his drink. 

„She has her ways, just like about everyone we’re friends with.“ Gerard shrugs. „Did I tell you about the way she found out the password to my Club Penguin account and got me banned for like, forty hours?“

„You play Club Penguin?“

„It’s my happy place, okay.“

„Anyway, her ‚announcement‘ was that she is coming over with Mikey since they have no life and the two of them are apparently lonely as fuck and have nothing to do so… yeah.“ Gerard rolls his eyes mentally because he can imagine how Lindsey had probably pretended to be in the most dramatic situation ever, but in reality she was just hanging around aimlessly at Mikey’s apartment. „She says the two of them are ‚bearing exciting news‘.“ Frank mocks her melodramatic phrasing and Gerard joins into his laughter. „Geez, I wonder what that could mean.“

„Yeah, she’s just like that.“ Frank giggles and Gerard agrees rather exhaustedly, remembering all the times that got him in trouble or did seriously damage to his apartment/car/everything. He wrings his hands dramatically and Frank laughs even harder.

„How did the two of you meet? If I can ask, I get the feeling it was kind of shady.“

„Oh my.“ Gerard sighs, smiling to himself as he thinks back to the awkward encounter. „It was actually in high school, but then some time later we started weirdly dating to ensure my family that yes, I can, in fact, bring a girl home, but it got all awkward and we just stayed friends. Besides, you can’t just put her off with weird behavior once she has set into her brain that she wants to be your friends, so you are probably stuck with her till like, the end of time, I’m sorry.“

„Haha, I don’t mind at all, you are fucking rad people, really.“ Frank smiles at Gerard and nope, he absolutely does not hide behind his large cup to fight down the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

A couple of minutes comfortable silence pass by, Gerard and Frank occasionally grimacing at each other at the kind of gross taste their in the meantime cold coffees have acquired, and the caffeine having woken up their brains a little makes them scarily aware of the gross fact that the the two of them are still wearing the same clothes as they did the entire prior day and entire night. 

Living the high profile life.

Their staring out the window while exchanging occasional, friendly, calm glances is, of course, interrupted by Lindsey bustling through the door with a confused but used to it Mikey being dragged after her, the scene causing quite a few weary heads to snap around in confusion.

„Gays– I mean guys, we have news.“

Gerard and Frank synchronically raise an eyebrow and Lindsey naturally slides into the booth next to Frank while Mikey takes a few seconds to sort his thoughts since, just like Gerard, he is not the sharpest in the mornings and he reluctantly plops down next to Gerard, poking his brother in the side as a form of greeting. Gerard can tell that he is incredibly tired, since he is showing even less emotion than he usually does and didn’t even bother opening his mouth the entire time, which, if you are not familiar with Mikey, might not be drastic, but once you know him, you know he always says at least one sentence to get people of his back.

„What’s up?“

„So, Mikey and I had this bet this morning.“ She stifles a laughter in her hand, wiggling her eyebrows at Mikey in that weird manner only she can do and Mikey looks a lot like he is already kind of regretting the whole thing that she yet has to declare. „Anyway, I lost and now I have to get a hitchhiking frog holding up a sign that says ‚fuck you‘ tattooed. It’s fucking sad, but eh.“ She shrugs and eyes the barista, probably contemplating wether she should get some coffee of not. Or just shamelessly checking her out, you never know with Lindsey.

Gerard and Frank just sit there, perplexed, and blink at the pair in confusion, Lindsey for some fucking reason grinning from ear to ear with her hands folded under her chin and Mikey, despite his usual emotionlessness, fighting a smile back as well now.

Gerard leans forward and inhales. Lifts a hand. But doesn’t get it out. 

He tries again and sighs, covering his eyes with his hand. „Why are you like this, oh my God.“ He groans, failing to hide his helpless smile behind long fingers while Frank’s breathy, machine gun laugh rings through the shop.

„And you,“ He points at Mikey, who is kind of smirking into his own hand, obviously enjoying the entire situation. „You shouldn’t be fucking encouraging her! What were the two of you even thinking when you made that bet? You are seriously crazy.“

Both shrug innocently but the mischievous look the two exchange is kind of unsettling, like they know something that Gerard and Frank obviously don’t.

„You know what that means, right?“ Mikey asks nonchalantly, waving the barista over to their table. Gerard frowns his brows. Um, it means that Lindsey’s body is going to be mutilated and fucking tainted with bullshit for the rest of her life, and he bets she’s gonna get it like, in a really sensitive area so it’l hurt like a bitch–

Oh shit. Realization suddenly dawns on Gerard.

„Does that mean the two of you are going to continue that ridiculous, useless plan? Please don’t.“ He says, desperately trying to sound bored but on the inside his intestines are twisting and churning in the most uncomfortable kinds of ways. He doesn't want that again, he doesn’t need this again and he, most of all, does absolutely not have the desire to faint in Frank’s presence once again, no thank you. There are things in life you don’t have to live through more than once, and this is definitely one of those.

„Oh yes, baby.“ Lindsey whistles and lays a warm, what is supposed to be comforting but instead just suffocating hand on Gerard’s shoulder, ordering a caramel latte as she not subtly at all throws the barista a wink.

„So, when are you free?“ She cheekily wiggles her eyebrows at Frank and the guy honestly seems torn as fuck, halfway totally finding Lindsey’s tattoo idea hilarious and throwing nervous and concerned, short looks into Gerard’s direction.

„Um, I can’t tell you right now, to be honest.“ He says slowly. „Just call the parlor and we’ll see if there’s some space we can put you in.“ 

„Yes!“ Lindsey enthusiastically whoops and high fives Mikey over the table, the younger Way brother chuckling at the way Gerard is now pouting because the two are ganging up against him again and how life is just not fair in general.

„Whelp, art school starts in half an hour, I think it’s time I bring Frank to the tattoo parlor and leave myself.“ Gerard announces and collects Frank’s empty plastic cup to throw it into the trash for him. 

„Wow you sure are good at weaseling yourself out of uneasy situations, aren’t you.“ Mikey drawls but lifts himself off the soft cushion to grant Gerard the leap to freedom out of the oppressive threat that is Lindsey’s reckless plans at the expense of others.

„It’s like, the only thing I’m good, at, let me live.“

„You are not getting out of this, you know?“ Lindsey smirks evilly and let’s Frank out of the booth too, clasping his shoulder in form of a goodbye. 

„Oh I know, I am a realist.“ Gerard sighs, faking excessive exasperation and is are twitching with the temptation to drag Frank out of the shop by his arm as quickly as he can. „See you around.“

The outside air is a lot hotter and damper than the Ac-cooled inside, but Gerard prefers it a lot more over one more minute mulling over his fear of needles in presence of Lindsey. „You okay? You looked quite uncomfortable.“

„Nah, it’s cool. Just the thought of needles really gets me, it’s stupid.“ Gerard sighs and rakes his fingers through his too long hair, getting out a cigarette and clenching it between his lips greedily as he remembers he practically got no nicotine in his bloodstream today and he is in dire need of it.

„It’s not as stupid as you think.“ Frank mumbles around his own as he lights up into his cupped hand, exhaling a wispy string of smoke and watching Gerard with attentive, thick-lashed eyes. „People are afraid of all kinds of shit. I hate spiders. Madonna is scared shitless of thunder. It’s just a thing.“ He shrugs and inspects his frayed converse shoelaces absent-mindedly, flicking a black strand trying to stick to his forehead. 

Gerard hums in agreement and the two make their way to his car that is, luckily, still parked in the disabled parking where he left it, still keyed and fucked up, but still there. Gerard absolutely can’t deal with towing fees right now, it would send him straight under the bridge (a/n: ayy see what I did there).

„I’ve been meaning to ask you,“ Frank suddenly asks, digging his fingers into Gerard’s the arm where the elbow meets the upper arm. His hands and fingertips are burning hot through Gerard’s jacket and he sincerely hopes he’s going to remove that soon or he’ll get in fucking trouble.

Why does he love getting gripped by Frank so much suddenly? Okay, brain, time to take a fucking rest. 

Frank, who has noticed Gerard's flinching and blushes a little before looking at the ground. „Um, I wanted to ask you for like, your number? You know, so we can like, talk and shit.“

Gerard’s face lights up and a small, involuntary grin forced itself onto his face. „That would be fucking nice. I’m afraid I don’t know mine by heart, would you bother giving me yours instead?“

Frank raises a surprised eyebrow but fishes his phone out of his jeans still. „Are you telling me you don’t know your own fucking phone number from memory?“

„It’s a hard life, but yeah, I really don’t know.“

„Well alight then, let’s get my contact in that shitty, abused thing.“

After Frank’s number is now registered in Gerard’s phone, the shitty, only thing feels like it had become a lot more important and valuable, weighing heavily in the pocket of his black, (fake-) leather jacket. He starts the spluttering machine once again, blinks and is drives out onto the highway.

„Let’s get you to the parlor then, shall we.“ 

 

[†]

 

„No.“ Frank says the moment he enters the parlor and finds Brendon and Patrick already sitting on the couch, obviously having seen how Gerard was the one who dropped him off. 

„No.“ He cuts Brendon off as he opens his mouth to probably comment something that is either highly inappropriate or just plain annoying. 

„I am not talking to either of you, just for clarification.“ Frank says, dashing away to the back rooms in a whirl of confident, determined long steps until he is sure they can’t see him anymore in the exhausted way he slumps against the hard wall pressing into his back, arm thrown over his eyes. 

He stays that way for a while, just leaning his head back and taking a deep breath when the heat of his cardigan (yep, the one he wore the entire last day too, geez, he sure does feel fucking gross wearing the same clothes for two days in a row) is slowly but steadily starting to suffocate him. 

He decides to dare to enter the lion’s den and just fucking hang it onto the hook that is oh so conveniently located just next to the sofa the two people he would not confront at all at the moment and that are like, probably giddy with gossip and judging Frank. 

Great.

He can legitimately feel their inquiring gazes burn into his back as he throws the soft article of clothing over the hook and pretends to not notice Brendon’s small, almost inaudible sadistic laughter. Man, that stare sure is intense. Maybe the two of them are the lost and unknown wayward offspring of Cyclops or something.

They spend a few moments in ignorant, knife-cuttable silence until Brendon’s leg-jiggling is getting out of control and his grin in the corner of his eye is far too annoying for Frank to deal with right now. „Oh, you sure feel so smug for just bolting out of the store without me having a car, don’t you?“ Frank, now smiling too, because these two idiots just can’t leave him cold and indifferent, they are his best friends after all.

Still nothing he hates more than them getting him to laugh when he actually wants to stay dead serious.

Brendon leans back, erupting in laughter that even Patrick joins in and Frank wonders if he wash involved in that stupid plan as well. With them constantly ganging up on him, he is fairly certain that has been the case. „Okay, I have no problem admitting that I totally did that on purpose.“ Brendon sighs happily and wipes a tear out of the corner of his eyes, easing back into the crappy backrest again with a content huff. „But the question that we’re all asking ourselves right now is: did it bear any fruits?“ 

Frank frowns.

„You know, did it… get you what you wanted?“ A vein at Brendon’s forehead starts bulging out and his ears turn red, clearly a sign he is vigorously holding back an other fit of laughter. 

„The fuck Brendon, I did absolutely not want anything, besides I don’t even know what you are implying.“ Frank tilts his chin up in disregardful ignorance and pretends to be totally clueless, which every person in the room knows is complete bullshit.

„Oh my God, just spit it out already.“ Brendon whines and impatiently flails his legs around, almost smacking Patrick in the process. „Did you two fuck already?“

Frank groans internally as well as externally but his exasperated answer remains stuck in his throat as a very tired and grumpy looking Bob shuffles through the door way too late compared to the usual too early time he always shows up, just shooting Brendon down with a death glare before disappearing into his own personal room 

Frank doesn't find it fair that they don’t have their own personal rooms, he sure could use one to escape all the madness he unfortunately is surrounded with on a daily basis. 

„Jeeze, what crawled up his ass today?“ Brendon asks, only to get a loud cough from behind the not closed door, which again causes him to jump and whip his head around immediately, instant regret flashing across his face.

„If you would like to keep your job, I am going to advise you to shut the hell up for the next three hours and preferably just not appear in his field of vision. If you do desire, however, to leave this relatively well payed job and open a brothel with your boyfriends, be free to just burst in that room and say out loud all the problems we collectively have with him.“ Patrick replies, smiling to himself when Brendon’s expression turns from sulky to freaked out in less than a second.

„Wait, how on earth would you know we joked about that last night?“

„Word travels fast in a small place like this.“ Patrick just says mysteriously and goes back to reading the last two pages of Frank’s novel.

Frank, who will not walk around in his beige cardigan the entire day any longer, hangs it onto the coat hook and laughs sadistically and jabs Brendon in the kidney. „See, now you know what I have to deal with on a daily basis. Patrick is sneaky as fuck. All of you are fucking creepy and probably like, psychic or something, I sometimes wonder if working long term with the two of you is like, going to make me insane someday.“

He ignores Brendon and Patrick’s huffs of complaint, because he is currently preparing himself for the probably most scary part of the day: Handing in his playlist and getting his first stamp of approval by Bob. 

The second stamp of approval is when he actually hears it running in the store, which is probably the even scarier part, especially when a song is on he’d rather not have on there. 

Frank will never forget the time a year or so ago when Brendon made a new Mix, probably drunk or high or both and accidentally added Cherry Pie by Warrant followed by a weird remix of Take on me and Numa Numa to it. Needless to say, Bob went mental when he heard it and Frank doesn’t think he himself has ever laughed so hard in his life. 

Grinning to himself at the fond memory, he tentatively knocks at the door leading to his office or whatever and pushes it open at the gruffy ‚come in.‘

„Why so happy today, Iero?“ Bob asks, eyeing Frank suspiciously, so Frank immediately pulls down the corners of his mouth. Geez, no fun allowed, as always.

He clears his throat and awkwardly pulls the Cd labelled with Gerard’s kind of old fashioned handwriting out of his flannel pocket and waves in the air, Bob’s face not exactly lighting up at the sight, but surely getting less dark and intimidating. Man, talking to the dude is always so fucking weird, Frank still hasn’t gotten over his inhibitions in all those years, it’s fucking embarrassing how he still legitimately fears him. 

„Ah, you got it done in time this year, I see.“ Bob glares at Frank and his foot immediately begins to throb with phantom pain. He swallows heavily. „Yeah, seems like it.“

„You got the track list? I will have to approve these, after the last one, I’m afraid.“

„Of course.“ Frank tries to keep his voice leveled, but can’t stop the way it does come out kind of pressed as he grinds his teeth a little too hard in anger. Seriously, people who insult his taste in music can kindly fuck off, it’s fucking rad, okay? Instead of throwing a fit like every fiber of his body is telling him to do, he digs out the piece of crumpled up paper out of his back pocket and hands it over, hating how his hands are slightly shaking now with nerves. Get yourself together Iero, in the end it is Bob who is dependent on you, not the other way round.

At the same time it is also him being the one who could be fired if this doesn’t turn out good, so Frank experiences a considerable wave of sweat oozing out of his pores. He is not made for this life on the edge, this is simply too burdening for him. 

Bob takes both and eyes the list slowly, his droopy, dirty blue eyes slowly, precisely scanning the rows of text Gerard has written down on it in messy chicken scratch. He hums indifferently when he immediately notices that there is a change in genre compared to the last list, and even through Bob des seem like an old sack who just complains at everything that is harder than like, Mendelssohn Bartholdy or something, he sure does know his way in music and has a not too bad range of knowledge on his hands, even if it is just the soft and god awful kitschy side of it.

His eyebrows raise at what Frank supposes to be the bunch of Brit Pop songs Gerard has chosen to be on the list, eyes flickering occasionally between Frank and the piece of paper that is probably going to decide how Bob is going to treat him for the next three months. He even lets a flicker of a smile grave his grouchy face as he proceeds further down the list, skimming the artists, and Frank feels like joyfully jumping into the air and declaring his love to every one and everything in the world, especially Gerard. 

He can’t wait to thank him (again) the next time he sees him, damn, the guy practically saved him from living the next twenty years like, on a park bench or something.

With a huff that sounds remotely content (and that is like, the best you will ever get from Bob, that is like the equivalent to receiving a compliment from Gordon Ramsay that isn’t sarcastic or some shit) and hands back the list but keeping the CS. 

„Well, it looks like you had to dig fucking deep to find all those song, eh?“ Bob asks Frank in his usual tone, not rude enough to actually have like, proof of anything, but still stinging slyly around the edges. „The genres are all over the place.“

Frank grinds his teeth again, reminding himself over and over to stay calm and smile, repeating it like a mantra in his head. „That was kind of the point.“ He comes up with what he hopes to be an excuse for him and Gerard not having enough time to go over it like, thirty times and get it right. „Thought I should shake things up and all.“  
Bob slowly nods. „Even through his surprises me to say, I am quite pleased with your list, Iero.“ Bob says in acknowledgement and Frank can’t help the relieved smile forcing itself onto his fave. 

„Thank’s a lot.“ He says almost a little too over excitedly, not aiming to bother Bob for a second as he shoos Frank out of his office with a flick of his wrist.

„Oh wait.“ Bob suddenly calls him back and Frank immediately stops in his tracks, hand resting on the door handle. 

„Yes.“

„I’ve noticed you have been doing a very good job lately.“ Bob seems kind of like he had to practice the words beforehand, they are awkward and kind of rehearsed, coming out of his mouth. Still, it manages to make Frank uncontrollably let his mouth fall open the slightest bit (because overly emotion is not something you do in front of Bob) and just stare at him a little dumbfounded.

„Um, that is nice to hear, thank you.“

„So, I’ve been thinking.“ Frank almost wants to laugh at how long Bob has to sort all the negative and grumpy thoughts aside in his head to actually get out something nice towards Frank. It’s really hilarious how much he is struggling, and even though Frank feels kind of bad for finding personal amusement in this, he does kind of have the right with all the years Bob has been a piece of shit to him. „We’re getting an apprentice next week. I actually would have chosen Patrick to train her and show her the ropes, but I have been thinking and I have come to the conclusion that you would be more suited for the job.“

If Frank’s mouth wasn’t open before, his jaw is definitely on the floor by now. What the actual fuck, wow.

„Are you serious?“ He asks, completely dazed with disbelief, because man, that is like, a lot of fucking trust. With every intern before (including Brendon), Bob was always in charge, controlling, having his eye on everything, making sure they matched up to his expectations and everything. Needless to say, he was really hard on them and they all left. Well, all except Brendon. You can’t get rid of that guy even if you attempted murder on him, Frank thinks.

Long story short, training an intern is a fucking huge deal.

„Do I have to repeat myself?“ Bob asks, bushy eyebrows furrowing together and bunging up a small skin-mountain range between them and Frank recognizes by now that it’s time to behave normally and just like, leave the grouch alone again.

„No sir.“ Frank presses his lips together, brain still reeling from Bob’s offer. „Thank you.“

Bob just grunts and shoos him out the door again, this time for real, and Frank doesn’t have to be told twice to just fucking get the hell out of there. He’s never been a fan of Bob’s bureau since it’s usually the room he gets scolded in, but apparently, also good things can happen there.

The moment Frank is out of the private room, closing the heavy door behind him, he practically skips over to Brendon and Patrick, who already look very anticipating and curious, and fist pumps the air triumphantly. 

„Guess who actually got a fucking compliment by no other than Bob Bryar. Just fucking guess.“ Frank fans himself self absorbedly with the piece of paper as he pleased watches his friends mouths fall open. 

„No fucking way!“ Brendon gasps and presses a hand to his chest.

„I can’t believe.“ Patrick says earnestly and snaps the book shut which he has in the meantime finished off. 

„Yep, I, for a change, am in his good book again, eat that, fuckers!“

„Well at least that long night of hard work with your boyfriend has had some output.“ Brendon cackles but dodges out of Frank’s way as he moves to the cash register to welcome the first customer of the day scrolling in. 

„Oh my fucking God, Brendon, so rude. Also we’re just friends. I repeat, just friends.“

„Oh, honey, as if anyone believes that.“

„Um yes? Because it’s true? Anyway, enough of shaming me, guess who’s fucking training the apprentice we’re getting next week.“ Frank smiles smugly, immensely enjoying him being the one in charge of roasting the others for a change. He actually doesn’t like being all that antisocial, but to restore at least some of the self respect, he’s gotta get Patrick and Brendon back for the constant playful bullying they put him through

„If you say you are going to do that, I think I’m going to throw something.“ Patrick says calmly, almost scarily so, and a dangerous, dark glint passes through his eyes as his fingers clench around the crumpled cover of Frank’s book.

Brendon and Franks share a wholehearted laugh until the crappy doorbell jingles and the girl Frank has almost forgot he is going to tattoo today enters the parlor, a slight, questioning look passing her face. Frank can’t blame her though. He, as a customer, would wonder too why the tattoo artists of the shoo are just fucking lazing around all the time and are not getting shit done.

„Well, dearest Patrick, it seems like a customer has arrived, I shall tend to her while you mull over why my life is suddenly better than yours.“ He smirks and Patrick frustratedly throws his hands into the air. Frank does kind of feel the pang of regret nagging away at the back of his head since Patrick really wanted to get in Bob’s good books for ever since he worked for him, which has been a couple of years longer than Frank has, and now Frank is reaping all the benefits from a Mixtape he hadn’t even done entirely himself. 

He’ll let Patrick help behind Bob’s back, or something. Maybe he can even work something out in favor for the short, fedora-loving blonde guy.

He deserves it more than Frank ever will, that is for sure.

 

[†]

 

Frank tattoos that girl for what feels like a a million years, and maybe it’s his nerves or plain awkwardness, but he never thinks he ever had to wipe that much sweat off of his forehead in order for it to not drip into the freshly tattooed art.

He silently thanks God that he hasn’t really caught a glimpse of Brendon and Patrick the whole day since after twenty minutes of him disappearing, today has become a particularly busy day where everyone is busy as fuck and probably doesn’t even get time to like, have a thirty minute smoke break.

That is for everyone except Frank. The moment he finished his last customer for the day, Brendon had snatched the last walk in away from him, leaving him lounging around on the sofa alone. He could go home, yes, but he could also wait for at least one of his two friends and make them join him for a smoke outside. 

Or more like, one friend, since Patrick doesn’t smoke in order to protect his ‚soul voice.‘. Which is a fucking amazing voice, oh lord. Seriously, why do both of his friends have to be like, the two of the most talented, living singers on the continent, it’s just not fair.

Okay, thoughts about singing and how generally everything and everyone is against Frank to all times possibly aside, he will admit that he is only waiting for Brendon to finish up so he can bum a couple of cigarettes off of him.

It’s only fair though, Brendon owes him more weed money than an entire family with like, eight children or something.

He decides to read. Catch up with Patrick. Because even though it is super lame and like, not what people assume of him at all, he absolutely loves to have deep, extended conversations with Patrick about the books they have just read, analyzing single characters to probably death, discuss the metaphorical purpose the book serves and like, dragging the author down occasionally for being unoriginal or having made the wrong plot decision.

He hasn’t had a quite good read in quite a while, life not really letting him just plop down and bury his nose in moth ball smelling yellow pages without getting interrupted by his surroundings and stressed out thoughts.

His fingers feel kind of foreign on the paper as he flicks over a page that should happen with the accurateness and least sound possible, but nah, he’s gotta get into that again, start at the beginning, etc.

After he’s gotten into a quite comfortable rhythm and has finished off about one hundred pages with his quick reading method, and gets fairly lost and nestled in into his own, little world, it suddenly comes to his mind that the person he is waiting for is Brendon. 

 

See, when you’re waiting for Brendon, the thing is you’re either being snuck upon or scared shitless or it’s just going to be a pain in the ass. Latter which is unfortunately Frank’s case as he is just minding his own business, absent-mindedly bobbing his head to Patrick’s actually sick RnB and Soul playlist when Brendon bustles through the back door with a short haired woman hesitantly following him, immediately diving behind the cash register to give her the bill or something. 

As soon as she is out the door, and Brendon is in no more obligation to live up to the parlors responsibility, so he plops down next to Frank and pulls out his phone, wincing when a solid forty messages pop up. 

The exhausting part of having two boyfriends, Frank supposes. 

„You mentally trash-talking my love life aside, why don’t you tell me a bit of yours, Frankie?“ Brendon toothily smirks to himself, eyes still trained on the cracked screen of his cheap Huawei, but his bushy brows wiggling in that stupidly suggestive way that he loves so much to do.  
„Please don’t.“ Frank sighs and pushes out his lower lip, pouting. „Why are all of you not getting off my back with this? It’s not fair.“ Brendon chuckles to himself, adjusting his feminine-cut glasses on the bridge of his nose. „Well, the way we pestered Patrick about the Peterick thing, I personally think it’s only fair.“

„That doesn’t excuse why you are so fucking annoying about it.“

„Oh, test there is, it’s called my personality. It’s a thing I do. Get with the flow.“

„God, you are so annoying.“

„But you still love me.“ Brendon chuckles confidently and shuts off his phone and mimics Franks sitting position so they are faint each other like two girls at a sleepover who are about to spill the tea on their stupid crushes on people they are never going to get anyway. Spot the different quizzes are so hard, smh.

„Also, I’m like, your best friend–

Frank coughs.

– so please, let me in on your inner emotional turmoil, I’m sure I can like, help.“

„I am not experiencing emotional turmoil, what are you talking about?“

„Oh, the denial, the sweet, sweet denial.“ Brendon sing-songs with a sigh and Frank just gives up. 

With Brendon, he likes to pretend he doesn’t want to talk to him, but the guy just tickles the good parts out of him every time with his fucking, tedious self. He really does (despite him denying it every time one would ask him) enjoy having those kitschy, unnerving talks because every person needs a little of those in their life, no matter how hardcore they pretend to be.

„Spill the beans, boy.“ Brendon pokes Frank and Frank pushes his hand that is about to poke him in the chest away rather forcefully. „You know I’m more into the lanky, high cheekbones type of guy, but damn, you’re catch sure if pretty.“ Brendon comments cheekily, the years of his professional getting on peoples nerves letting him know exactly what buttons to push to make Frank incredibly flustered. 

„Oh my god, stop.“ Frank mumbles through his interlaced fingers he hides his face behind.

„So you do think he’s hot.“ Brendon quizzically lifts the corner of his plump mouth and raises his eyebrows (fuck them for gaining extra expressiveness on his already excessively large forehead). 

„You know I don’t care wether people are hot. So yeah, he’s pretty, so what? People are pretty, I don’t care.

„Dude yeah, I agree, obviously, but you need to throw yourself into the game sometimes, man.“ Brendon tries again, carding his fingers through his hair. Frank smirks to himself at the sign of frustration.

„No, thank you, I’m fine on my own.“

„You sure? You need to shake things up a little man. Especially after Jamia, really.“

Frank swallows hard and the sudden mood change from light and playful to rather depressing and heavy is so visible you could feel the bad vibes vibrating through the air. „Don’t… don’t mention her, please.“ Frank’s voice, usually loud, a slightest bit of a high pitch breaking through what could be a smooth, deep rumble, is suddenly very thin and small. He is definitely nor thinking about that now, no way. 

„He’s a fucking amazing guy, he is hot, at least in my eyes, but I’m okay with just being friends. I don’t need love and most importantly, I don’t want love. There. You happy?“ Frank cuts off what dangerously tends to form into a rant. He is not even mad at Brendon for (again) prying into things Frank would rather leave unspoken, but he is kind of upset he does kind of find the words of him not wanting anyone to be not as true as if he uttered them two weeks ago.

„How about in a hypothetical alternate universe though? Like, completely hypothetical.“ 

„In that hypothetical universe I would be screaming and playing in a band that has worldwide following without being a fucking sellout, would change kid’s lives and have a bunch of cute baby girls to warm my heart.“ Frank huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, pouting again, because damn, that would be some kind of badass life. 

„Oh, but what if Gerard was like, the lead singer? He looks like a singer, damn, with that hair, he could totally front a band. I bet he’s got like, a really distinctive voice too like, not polished, but raw ans–

„Oh my God, Brendon, stop.“ Frank whines and shoves Brendon hard because the last thing he needs right now is images of Gerard fucking singing, on a stage, shirt clinging to his curves with the sweat dripping off his fave while he is trashing around the stage, sensually sending, pink mouth slack–

„I can literally hear you moaning on the inside.“ Brendon winces playfully and Frank flinches so hard as if he was just struck by lightning.

„I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ he says casually, flicking a lint from the backrest of the sofa and examining his nails because he is a proud male who don’t let no embarrassment get to him even though the whole fucking world seems to be against him every time of the day. 

„Deniaaal.“ Brendon whispers and jumps up to perform an awkward hop-dance in the attempt of shimmying his low-riding skinny jeans up his beanpole-frame again. „Sweet, sweet, denial.“

Frank sighs, now kind of desperate to escape the situation. „As you will, but the real reason I’m enduring your presence is so I can sneak a couple of those disgusting Marlboro Red’s that you seem to worship so much. Seriously, If you want to go give away your life, then at least do it smoking an acceptable brand.“

„I hope you are aware that your lovebird smokes Red’s too, you know.“

„Um, what?“

„Yeah, I smelt it back at the record store.“ Brendon smirks in that weird way again.“

„Wow, that’s not creepy at all.“ Frank rolls his eyes and immediately lights up the cigarette Brendon reluctantly handed him, wincing when the gross taste sticks to the back of his throat. He is, however, to nicotine-starved to care too much about that.

„Must suck kissing him then, eh?“ Brendon suddenly asks and Frank chokes on his inhale of smoke, coughing like some beginner.

„Not that I’d know.“

„Oh come on.“ Brendon throws his head back in exasperation and groans, the back of his head hitting the top of Frank’s car where he is leaning against it, smoke wafting out of his mouth and nose. „Are you seriously telling me you stayed over at a guy’s home that you happen to find fucking attractive and nothing in the slightest happened?“

Frank sighs deeply, staring at the ground to watch that the ashes of his smoke don’t land on his shoes and then looks up with earnest eyes to Brendon to makes him fucking understand for once. Frank knows he lies a lot or is shady about a couple of things, but this time it’s the truth, dammit. „Nothing happened, I swear, I don’t even to hundred percent know if he’s into dudes and I’m not in the fucking mood. Alright?“ 

Brendon sighs and flicks his cigarette to the ground. „Alright.“ He says and flicks Frank’s shoulder lightly as he pushes off the side of Frank’s car, shaking escaped strands of his quiff out of his eyes behind his glasses. „Sorry for being an annoying ass.“

„Oh don’t worry, it’s a crucial part of your lovable personality.“ Frank grins widely, infecting Brendon with it as he takes one last long drag from his cigarette and stomps it out on the floor as well. Brendon wiggles his fingers at him as a silent sign of goodbye and head off to his own car, which of course is not as rusty and defective as Frank’s is.

Blowing out the last remains of the bitter smoke filling his lungs, he fishes his car keys out of his pocket and unlocks the slightly jamming car door he has to always try at least two times until he gets it open, having to live with the constant fear of it just falling off or not opening at all sometime.

Inside, he hasn’t even sat down probably in the soft seat, his phone begins to vibrate against his thigh for the second time this day. He sighs. Who on earth would fucking want something from him at this time of day? He really hopes it’s not his mom or something, geez, that would only mean trouble or him fucking something up.

To his surprise, however, it’s not him mom or any person he knows, but an unknown number that has sent hum a text message. Huh, weird. 

/G/: Hey, this is Gerard  
/G/: Sorry for being a fucking creep

FrNk: dont sweat it its cool  
FrNk: so what brings you to talking to me at this time of day?  
FrNk: you still have art school dont you  
FrNk: dont skip class man like student loans and all that shit

/G/: Don’t tell me how to live my life  
/G/: Also that’s where you’re wrong  
/G/: I am, in fact in lecture  
/G/: And it’s boring the hell out of me  
/G/: Distract me, please

FrNk: poor you  
FrNk: see, that’s the reason I never went to college  
FrNk: it cant be that bad  
FrNk: art is like, your thing

/G/: Well yeah, but we’re discussing different epochs  
/G/: And I swear if I hear that old ass lecturer say Baroque one more time, I’m going to jump out the window  
/G/: I want to write comic books, not sculpture fat little cherubs for fuck’s sake  
/G/: Anyway  
/G/: How was your day? Hope your appointment with that girl went okay

FrNk: was quite exhausting but oh well  
FrNk: turns out shes warming up to tattooing  
FrNk: also im getting an apprentice next week so theres that  
FrNk: no idea if i can handle the responsibility but eh

/G/: You’ll do great, don’t worry!  
/G/: I think the key is to make them comfortable  
/G/: Let them ask as many questions as they like even though it might be annoying  
/G/: Maybe they’ll stay, who knows?

FrNk: yeah, youre right  
FrNk: oh wait  
FrNk: I WAS MEANING TO TELL YOU  
FrNk: your mixtape was so fucking good Bob has me in his good books again  
FrNk: he was so amazed you should have seen his face!!  
FrNk: please dont kill me but i just really really want to thank you for all your hard work again

/G/: That’s amazing news!  
/G/: I’m so glad he liked it, wow  
/G/: I won’t kill you, but you need to give yourself some credit here too  
/G/: You helped a whole bunch too, we would have never gotten it done otherwise  
/G/: Also I think it is my turn to thank you for helping with the cleanup of my apartment

FrNk: it was my pleasure ;)

 

They ease into lighter and more playful conversation after that, laughing and talking about anything from the lovely American President to embarrassing stories about Frank getting wasted at Festivals and accidentally managing to get on stage for a couple of seconds until the security guard broke his collarbone in the process of tackling him to the ground.

Gerard actually gets Frank to laugh in the dorky, slightly passive aggressive and then incredibly sweet way he talks, and that is about the moment when he realizes that he actually never met anyone as rad as Gerard before. 

Even though they haven’t spent that much conscious time around each other, Gerard is just so natural to hang out with and talk to. 

Frank sighs. 

Maybe Brendon does have a point, he should probably hum over his shadow and like, get used to the idea of like maybe possibly getting it on with a guy for a change. Hypothetically of course. No that he likes Gerard and Gerard likes him and any way, absolutely not possible, no.

Frank groans loudly and leans back in his car, propping one knee up on the steering wheel (perks of being short) and presses his knuckles into his eyes. Dammit, he feels like the confused as fuck bisexual teen he was when he was about seventeen, panicking on an empty, puke-stained guest bathroom after the drunk making out with some guy had turned him on more than he had anticipated. 

See, usually, it’s Frank who’s the all-out charming, confident guy, he may be short but he’s got the attitude to balance that out. So yeah, that’s how how usually goes on about it, confidence, charm, get ‘em wrapped around your little finger. 

For girls, that is. 

The thing is that guys are different.

Not that Frank would particularly know what dating men ins like, he’s not experienced at all apart from drunk out of his mind hand jobs in dirty alleyways and sloppy kisses in weed-stuffy basements. So yeah, maybe he does live in denial a little, like Brendon ever so kindly like to point out and remind him of, but his denial is not just because Gerard’s a dude, no, Frank has always been aware of his attraction to both people of the same and opposite gender for the longer part of his life. 

However, Gerard being, well, a dude, it makes him fucking insecure.

Why?

Remember the first time you asked someone out? Frank neither, which might be because of the fact that he probably banned that memory from his mind forever since it was so awkward and plain uncomfortable. 

So all in all, male territory is a brand new thing for Frank and he is fucking terrified, scared shitless, shooketh. Wow.

He sure is one huge of a fuck up.

Well, at least Gerard seems to not completely loathe him to at least some extent, so that’s a plus.

Which only leaves Frank to find out what he himself feels, basically.

Quiet, The Strokes buzzing in the back of the radio’s throat as the sun dips a little lower to cast thin, non-warming rays through the millions of leaves healthily hanging off the large tree on the other side of the street.

Sweet Jesus, why does life always have to be so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dude at my workplace looked so much like Nick Cage I fucking snorted in public. 
> 
> Also I'm listening to nothing else but the 'Is this it' record by the Strokes right now. 
> 
> It *claps* is *claps* so *claps* GOOD *claps*.
> 
>  
> 
> Also this chap is 12k plus words, holy shit.


	7. /7/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me on summer break: Oh hell no, I haven't posted in two weeks!!!
> 
> Me now: Oh SHIT I haven't posted in like what, three months? Maybe more??? Whoops
> 
> I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, but believe it or not, school is a thing that exists and I am fucking graduating so there's that.
> 
> This chapter is so long and I couldn't shorten it somehow. Let me know if my writing is starting to get boring/too long. 
> 
> I still don't have the ability to spell correctly, it's a fucking problem. Bear with me pls.

August passes and turns into the moody and windy, yet still pretend-sunny September full of unfitting clothing choices and sickly little coughs due resulting from way too thin sweaters and lack of scarves. If you are regular people that is. When you’re Frank, not even the heaviest jacket can save you.

As time progresses and the days fly by in a pleasingly quickly blur, Frank finds himself spending way too much time with his new friends than is considered healthy. Wether it is Lindsey, Gerard and also often Petekey joining him in the park when he walks his also probably not healthy amount of dogs or Frank tatting along whenever Lindsey drags the lot to some shitty band performing in their area, they always invite him over. 

His half naked couch-lounging Reality TV-weekends have been suffering a little, but he doesn’t mind if it’s with the people he has really really come to like.

Yes, you heard correctly, Frank Iero, the guy with a total friend count of like, three and a half people and who on top of that is chronically bad at commitment and relationships has formed a bond with *new* people.

Wow, major improvement, right? He should call his mom and tell her about it, y’know, get into her good books and shit again. Earn those brownie points.

It turns out that Lindsey and Brendon have become absolutely inseparable, as if one of them wasn’t bad enough already. While Brendon’s ADHD combined with Lindsey’s constant thirst for adventure let the rest suffer from severe side effects in form of countless pranks and breakneck activities they constantly have to endure, Frank has to admit they have like, really found each other.

Besides continuously getting more and more attached to the new people in his life, he has also found a great, no, extraordinary partner in music in Ray. Frank once introduced him to the small, shitty practice room his band rehearses and practices in, just to jam a little and possibly have some fun, and oh boy, that was one of the better decisions he has made in his life.

Ray is a fucking guitar god, fingers agile, stance broad and curly hair fucking everywhere when he throws his whole body into the music. Frank knows he’s not bad himself, but his rhythm-guitar skills pale in comparison to the sounds Ray can tickle out of his own instrument. Their styles are completely different and shouldn’t really work together, but they somehow do. The he way they just clicked, holy shit. Long story short, Frank really, really adores, admires, fucking worships Ray.

You can’t have it all though, the fucker lives a two hour drive away. Fucking sigh. He does take the time to drive over a lot, so that’s impressive.

Lindsey is also fucking sick, even through he has hardly expected anything else. Frank doesn’t think he has ever come across a person so… different in his entire life. Just watching her talk, topics ranging from RuPaul’s Drag Race to society and the government, is better than the ten plus year education he had received in that waste of a snobby catholic school his parents made him attend. She’s incredibly intelligent and daring and wow, he’s coming close to love here, because damn, that woman is inspirational.

He went to see MSI an other fucking three times. He wishes for Pencey Prep to archive the same kind band moral someday. Sure, they practice a lot compared to the other bands they share their practice room with, and he’d been lying if he said they aren’t dedicated, but they don’t really get along as well as when Frank still supplied them with weed and the motivation in general has been lacking a little throughout the last year.

Then there is Pete and Mikey, who are the absolute power couple. Pete and Frank have always gotten along splendidly since the first time he put the needle in the guy’s skin, and now that they’re hanging around quite often has made them grow a lot closer than they’ve been before with just being tattoo artist and client. Mikey is the counter pole to Pete’s off the charts crazy and immature behavior, and watching how Mikey can’t quite help his usually emotionless, seemingly cold self melting away unter the influence of Pete’s stupidity is plain adorable.

Frank actually got the two to join a jam session with Ray, even though Pete sucks at playing the bass beyond all imagination, not contributing at all, just being there for the ‚visual‘, as he likes to put it. Mikey’s fucking talented, of course. It’s always the mysterious, quiet ones.

And last but not least, there’s Gerard. 

Gerard Arthur fucking Way. 

Over the span of the last month or so, it seems like Frank’s life has gotten considerably easier is a lot of aspects, however one part has remained just as messed up and weird ever since the first time he laid eyes on the beautiful human that fainted in his tattoo parlor. 

(He totally almost blacked out again when he tattooed Lindsey for the second time, he had to hold back a huge amused grin the entire time.)

What really worries him is the fact that he and Gerard have gotten incredibly close in the past months, even closer than Frank would have thought was possible with someone you are totally crushing on. They always sort of seem to lazily float on the same wave length, and even though their opinions often tend to differ, it’s more out of delightful mockery than anger when they rile each other up until Gerard is all red-faced and upset and Frank is considering smashing something before they simultaneously quote a line from some old Star Trek movie running in the background and break down laughing.

So yeah, even though he and Gerard share a pretty strong platonic bond in a way that playfully insulting each other and snuggling into each others side under comfortable blankets because Gerard’s heater has died in like, World War II is as natural as breathing, Frank can’t help but constantly tip over the forbidden edge and dare to dream beyond that more often than his good conscience is okay with.

Most of the time he spends pushing down the obvious and guilty feelings, repressing it all to the back of his mind. He wants to enjoy what they have and not risk it, he really does, but there is simply so much about Gerard that for some weird reason takes his breath away and makes him stare too long.

To name a few examples off the top of his head: Gerard’s fucking teeth. They are tiny as fuck, off colored from severe coffee and nicotine addiction, but to Frank, they are endearing. The way his weirdly shaped lips lopsidedly stretch around them when he smiles is the image that he would gladly accept as the last thing he’ll see before he dies.

Then, to proceed further down the checklist of bullet points titled ‚things about Gerard that keep me awake at night‘, is his fucking laugh. His laugh is far from perfect, to be honest, it’s really honky and nasal and sometimes, when he kind of can’t contain it, way too loud, eyes crinkling until he basically can't see anymore and his pointy, fragile nose scrunched up, pale cheeks reddening in the slightest, unevenly splotchy bit. It's still sends a swarm of vampiric butterflies to wreck havoc in his stomach.

So yeah, Frank is totally fucked. The thing is, when he’s alone, he can keep wandering thoughts about him to a minimum and under control (total LIE), but the real trouble begins the second that gorgeous dude called Gerard appears in his presence. That’s where things go down hill. 

Gradually. 

Just like now. 

The ‚gang‘, as Lindsey fondly likes to call them, has once again assembled in Gerard’s apartment (wow, surprise) and have started a horror movie marathon that includes probably only Gerard’s favorites, Frank sitting on the floor with his back leaning against that unnecessary small table Gerard owns and Gerard’s still shower-damp head (very rare) in his lap, absent-mindedly occasionally lifting his hand to retrieve a Cheeto from the chipped bowl in front of him and nibble at it, eyes trained onto the screen. 

Frank’s hands are twitching with the desire to just tangle them in Gerard’s more than shoulder length, pitch black locks, but no, he’s not gonna get physical and start getting all touchy feely with the guy out of fucking nowhere, even though he kind of really wants to. Sigh. Fuck the friend-zone. And Frank’s feelings. Fuck those in particular. With a cactus, preferably. 

Behind them, Lindsey and Mikey have settled down to share the armchair which they both have apparently declared as their throne over the years, so, to prevent a massive fight that both of them would have surely carried out cosplaying with actual armor and weapons, they have just settled for sharing, Lindsey having plopped down into his lap with her legs dangling over the armrest.

Ray has claimed the beanbag for himself, hogging it like the proud, fro-y sunshine he is. What leaves Pete sulkily sitting between Mikey’s sprawled legs, resting the back of his head against Lindsey’s thighs since he doesn’t really have anywhere to sit. Gerard’s apartment is simply too small to handle such a high amount of people. 

Does that stop them from piling into it all the time? Fuck no. 

„Okay, I have a proposal.“ Lindsey suddenly says as the credits of the Audition roll, crappy mysterious music and too quickly disappearing lines of white flicking over the screen to actually acknowledge the artists that had part in the production of the movie. 

„Shoot.“ Frank drawls slowly, a little too intrigued by the way Gerard’s eyelashes flicker across the screen hastily, trying to take in as many names a possible. 

„I raise a petition for Gerard to cut his hair. For just one dollar a day you can help Gerard Arthur Way get rid of his horrible hair and fund his broke ass a proper haircut. Please donate to change this man’s life, we only need 50% of the people currently lazing around in this apartment to vote yes and a whole new world will be open to the ‚man behind the mop’.“ 

„What the actual fuck Lindsey.“ Gerard sighs and shifts his head in Frank’s lap, turning from laying sideways to roll onto his back, tilting his head over his thighs backward to get an upside down look at her. 

„Oh, just the usual, her forcing us all into doing stuff we actually don’t give a shit about.“ Pete shrugs but raises his head to agree with Lindsey anyway. „This time though, I’m gonna donate my non existent savings, sorry dude, you need that haircut badly.“ 

„What the hell Pete, your hair is straight ironed to the point where it’s not fashionable anymore and your boyfriend has fucking triangle hair. Lindsey dyes her hair every second week and Ray had to actually use three fucking boxes or hair color to get his hair darker. Why on earth would I have to change my hair?“ 

„Oh, don’t forget the fact that Frank had dreads.“ Lindsey wiggles her eyebrows and imitates taking a drag from an imaginary joint.

Frank laughs at that, not even mad at the cheeky smile playing across Gerard’s lips as he shoots him a playful, sideway, smile. „Let’s leave that phase in the past, please.“ He grins and flicks his cigarette into Gerard’s bad ass skull ashtray.

Mikey lifts the corner of his mouth and raises his hand in agreement as well, Gerard sighing and closing his eyes exhaustedly. 

„It’s up to you, Ray, Frank. We only need one more vote!“ Lindsey excitedly bounces up and down where she is sprawled out across Mikey’s lap, throwing them one expecting look after the other. It’s going to be difficult since 1) Ray is the kindest person to walk the planet and he would probably only tell Gerard to cut his hair if he was held on gunpoint and even then he’s feel bad about it and 2) Frank, being the #1 Gerard Way slut, he honestly doesn’t mind how the fuck Gerard’s hair looks, he’s pretty to him anyway. 

Oh wow, tone down the gay a little, mind you?

Not that he says that out loud though he just shrugs in a dismissive manner, going back to stealing Gerard’s Cheetos, not able to not smile as it earns him a dissatisfied huff from his lap. “I really hate to say this but if this goes on you’re going to look like a Walmart version of Anthony Kiedis, Gee.“ Ray says, sadly lifting himself off the beanbag to move to the DVD player and hopefully have a word in selecting the next movie. 

„Anthony Kiedis is a very gorgeous man.“ Gerard complains weakly, but it is drowned out by the volume of Lindsey's joyfully whoops. 

„Yes! This is a revolution!“

„Oh my fucking God, don’t be so overdramatic, Jesus Christ.“ Frank can feel the groan leaving Gerard’s pained face vibrating through the thin Mötörhead shirt separating Gerard’s torso from Frank’s leg and he, despite himself, has to smile to himself at Gerard’s genuine agony. 

„Fine, but I’m only going with Frank.“ Gerard flips them off blindly, exasperatedly rolling his eyes, almost prepared for the disappointed, collective „what the fuck, why“ being shouted back at him. 

„Dude, you cutting your hair is like, a once in a quarter century occurrence, we have to be part of it.“ Lindsey moans and rolls off Mikey’s lap onto the floor. 

„I know, and that is exactly the reason I don’t need two people telling me to bleach it, an other one desperately trying to get me to color it a fire engine red– that death glare goes to Pete – and someone else pressuring me into thinking that blonde is the way to go. No buts.“ The sound of passionate people being shut down and sulking fills the room and Frank can literally see Gerard high-fiving himself mentally. 

„We’re gonna make you go in the next three weeks, just saying.“ 

„And see, Frank, that’s why I don’t go to the hairdresser.“ Gerard sighs and removes himself from his lap (Frank does absolutely not miss the warmth of his ill postured, round shoulders, what are you talking about) and stretches and plops down next to Frank again. 

„So, how’s the touring going Linds? I know the transition to less painful topics couldn’t be worse, but just accept it. Make it feel natural.“ Gerard asks not very casually between two handfuls of Cheetos. 

„You haven’t told us anything for like, ages man!“ Frank giggles to himself as Lindsey’s face lights up to the max and she, in her trademark, waterfall-bubbly way, starts to rant about schedules, equipment, her wonderful bandmates and their new music that can’t yet be labelled as new music yet because it’s so crappy it shouldn’t be released to the ears of the mortal in foreseeable future. 

The longer she talks and talks and talks, Frank feels the familiar cold nag of anxiety well up in the pit of his stomach. Okay, to repeat it once more (he likes to hear it, okay?), he has gotten quite close with the… gang (ugh, just saying that hurt), but the major thing is that he hasn’t told them that he is playing in a band yet. 

Nice, right? It’s not like the only thing that makes Frank remotely interesting is music and his burning love for the guitar, no, not at all. He kind of finds himself shocked by his own cowardice when he realizes that he hasn’t even remotely mentioned it to Ray. 

Well shit. 

And no, actually Frank wouldn’t have any reason to tell them now and create some major awkwardness, only that he kind of really does. 

Because guess what? Pencey Prep is playing a couple of shows in the area and every fiber of his being is screaming at him to finally ask them to come see them once. But wow, anxiety is great because man, Lindsey’s band is so fucking good and compared to their signature, if kind of breakneck style, they’re nowhere near that level and admittedly kind of stuck. Yay. 

„What are you thinking about, dude?“ Ray asks and picks a Cheeto out of his hair that Gerard has most likely thrown in there, confirming that Frank probably was very spaced out to not notice something that hilarious. He’s about to pull a really crappy topic change á la Gerard, but now everyone is staring at him intensely. Well fuck. Looks like there is no getting out of this anymore. 

„Uhm well.“ Frank stars, already knowing you could probably use the next couple of sentences coming out of his mouth for a drinking game, like, take a shot every time he uses a filler word of something. He mentally slaps himself. Just fucking say it, you’ve done more embarrassing and awkward things in your life. Which we’re not going to think about right now, no thank you.

„Okay, so, there is this, uh– band I have and… And. I’ve been thinking, maybe y’all would like to come when we’re playing a couple of shows in the area? You don’t have to, we kind of suck and are really trashy and emo, of course, but just putting that out there. Yeah. Just gonna leave that there.“ He says a little too quickly, rolling his eyes at himself because seriously what the fuck Frank. 

At least his friends faces are the funniest thing ever, Lindsey looking like she is about to jump out of the window, Ray’s genuine amazement, Pete’s disbelief and – well fuck. 

Frank was not ready to see that level of fondness/adoration/whatever look pooling in Gerard’s wide eyes and it is causing the heat of a bursting like, star to rise to his cheeks, cause damn, that’s pretty. 

„Man, did your nerves just turn you southern? You’re fucking New Jersey trash, our kind doesn’t use y’all. It’s like the NJ codex. We should get your mouth washed out with soap.“ Mikey grins and Frank grabs into Gerard’s Cheeto bowl once again (not without getting thrown off guard when their hands touch for a second) to throw a couple of them at Mikey, ignoring Gerard’s half assed complaints of them having to clean up after that. „Shut it, Mikey, I love New Jersey more than all of you combined and you know it.“ 

„Okay, but.“ Lindsey suddenly sits up from where she has rearranged herself in Mikey’s lap again, kneeing him straight in the crotch in the process. „Is this like, real? Dude!“ 

She, after Mikey has ultimately shoved her off him and forbade to com back, jiggles her leg on the ground excitedly and suddenly Frank feels a little uncomfortable having all the attention and eyes glued to him, ugh. His own fault though.

„I can literally see the betrayal in Ray’s face.“ 

„Well not betrayal, don’t take this too far.“ Ray chuckles, still carding his hands through his fro to find the last Cheeto remains occasionally wincing when his fingers catch in a stubborn knot like all those girls in those before/after conditioner commercials. „But dude, why haven’t you told us? That would have been so much fun.“

Frank sighs to himself, deeply, majorly because he fucking knew this would have fucking consequences, but also partly because of a warm, heavenly hand (aka Gerard’s) settling on his shoulder and him quietly saying „We’ll be there, don’t worry“ over the endless banter that has continued as if Frank wasn’t just in the room with them, mainly consisting of just speculations of what genre they play to how many members they might have to how hot the bassist is because bassists are always the hottest ones. 

See, that’s an other thing Frank loves –cough, likes– about Gerard, it’s the way he gets that Frank isn’t always the 100% aggressive rebellious but still kind of lovable asshole all the time but likes to kind of just disappear and be unreasonably shy sometimes too and– 

„Shut the fuck up. It’s called insecurity and you loudmouths don’t need to know everything. So what, he plays in a band and you didn’t know? Well, now you do! I play in a fucking band too and neither of you fucking know, carry on for fuck’s sake.“ Mikey cuts into the rumble, startling them with him 1) actually talking louder than like, the rustle of the wind for once and 2) him fucking being in a fucking band. As quickly as it came, Gerard’s hand is off Frank’s shoulder and all Frank can hear is a loud „Michael James Way how dare you keep secrets like that from your own flesh and blood“ before his eardrums shut down completely as the whole room dissolves into a mess of more halfheartedly upset ranting, laughs and picking on.

 

[†]

 

The week moves on without an incident (except for the time Gerard frantically texted Frank about how was about to fuck up his microwave because he fell asleep to his food rotating with a metal spoon in it which again lead to an embarrassingly freaked out Face time consisting of Frank trying to recall the weird hacks his italian mom would always try to press into his stubborn, child brain, but eh, completely normal in the life of Gerard Way.) 

And since it’s been a boringly regular and normal week, it leads to Frank slouching aimlessly over the backrest of the office chair after just finishing up an other customer thirty minutes ago, knowing his next appointment will be in like, an hour or so. 

Despite him having done a really good job (in his opinion, anyway) on the artwork the guy requested and he was absolutely stunned once it was tattooed on his thigh to cover up some wicked scar, he can’t let the satisfaction and content get to him like it usually does since his mind is only circling around the fucking gig he invited his friends to on Saturday aka fucking tomorrow. 

God, this is too hard for him to handle. 

„Watcha depressing yourself about again?“ Becca enters the room, throws her disposable gloves into the trash and releases her weirdly bleached blonde hair from her absolutely messy bun. Frank has to keep telling her to tie it into one since it’s fucking all over the place and practically everywhere all the time.

Like cat hair, really, you really need to watch out for one of the long strands whenever you try to eat your Chinese takeout.

Becca is the apprentice Frank has the privilege to train and yeah, Frank isn’t even ashamed to admit that they have gotten along fucking perfectly since the first day they’ve met, immediately bonding over shitty humor with a dark twist to it, their passion for obscure bands nobody else listens to (which lead to weekly exchanges of new albums they’ve come across) and just their shared love for body art and jewelry. 

„I have no idea where you’re getting that from. For all you know I could be thinking about how whales are mercilessly harpooned in the Antarctica and how Trump is going to be the end of us all and start world war three. In the most non-depressive ways of course. I’m a happy person.“ 

Becca presses a chipped, red nail against her chin, wiggling it around a little in concentration while sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. „Nah, I don’t believe you, that’s too oddly specific.“ She laughs when Frank throws his hands in the air, cursing under his breath and muttering something around the lines of her being way too observant and attentive for her own good. 

„You gonna clean that up? I’m kind of lazy, to be honest.“ She just laughs and gestures towards the still open small ink pots Frank has used earlier, some of it spilled because fight him, he is a messy guy. Some of it got soaked up into scrunched up antiseptic paper towels or whatever they’re called, they’re hygienic as fuck, okay. 

„Um excuse me, you’re the apprentice here, I’m gonna take advantage of that, no matter how assholish that sounds like.“ He winks at her from where he is currently testing how much of the backrest he can push forward with just the strength of his chin. 

„You’re no fun, Frank.“ Becca pouts and Frank wiggles his eyebrows at her. „Oh really? I didn’t know.“ Frank drawls sarcastically and smiles to himself as Becca huffs in discontent and reluctantly begins to dispose the containers after putting on an other new pair of gloves. Frank watches her clean the rest of the really not big mess, still mulling over the upcoming gig and, as he tends to do a lot when he has nothing else to do, because he’ll be performing in front of a couple handful of people, but also Gerard. 

There is so much that could go wrong. 

Gerard not liking their music, Gerard thinking he’s ridiculous, Gerard being all– „Spit it out, who’s the guy you’re thinking bout?“ Becca questions in her beautifully british accent as she pops up next to Frank’s shoulder, scaring the shit out of him. 

„What the actual fuck, Becca?“ She pouts and sits down onto the table, which is actually not allowed, great, now he’ll have to disinfect it agin, he’s gonna have to tell her that sometime. 

„Well since you’re making the face of a lovesick puppy and there’s no way you’re straight, I am getting the feeling that you’re having trouble in paradise with you’re– 

„Don’t say it.“ 

„Oh, so you’re not together yet? Still working on getting the booty, eh?“ 

„Oh my god shut up.“ Frank groans into his hands but can’t help but laugh weakly. „It’s a long story.“ 

The attempt of shooing her away discreetly doesn’t work since Becca isn’t one to not notice when her inquiring is not exactly welcome but just doesn’t give a shit about that. „So what, I’ve got time.“ She slaps her hands against her thighs lightly in some off beat rhythm, excitement pooling in her eyes. „Tell me what’s eating you up inside, pleeeaaaase.“ She begs and actually extends an arm to shake Frank’s shoulder. 

Frank sighs deeply because man, he can’t resist those puppy eyes that still got so much youthful life in them. And wow, no he sounds like some old grouch longingly admiring the young generation for their everything, man, he’s gotta tone that down a little, he’s only twenty fucking three. 

„Okay, so before you start harassing me till I lose my mind, yes, there is a guy, and yes, we’re not together, and yes, I am, believe it or not, an anxious little shit about it.“ He sticks his tongue out at Becca as she playfully let’s her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. 

„Aw, you and anxious? That must be some hell of a guy.“ Of course noticing how just the slightest dust of pink settles on the apples of his cheeks, Becca giggles softly to herself, clapping her hands together excitedly and emitting those typical high pitched girly sounds she does whenever she finds something ‚sooo cute‘. 

„Tell me, Frank.“ 

„Back off, geeze.“ Frank huffs and briefly stands up to turn the chair around since he would like to have some support on his back. Her eyes lower in a fake ‚if you don’t tell me im going to stab you with this not-cleaned needle and you might get AIDS‘ look and Frank rubs an exhausted hand over his stubbly cheek. Shit, when was the last time he shaved? Too long, that’s for sure.

„Fuck yes, he’s amazing, we met at the parlor, I’m really good friends with him and his friends and I invited all of them to see my band play tomorrow and now I’m staring to fucking regret it, okay?“ 

„Oh my, wow, slowing down, retracing the steps.“ Becca interrupts, eyes wide. „First of all, you have friends apart from Patrick and Brendon? Second, you play in a band? Dude!“ 

Frank groans. „Okay, okay, I’m sorry for not telling yada yada, but I kind of have a problem on my hands here.“ 

Becca giggles again and presses her hand to her chest, face naturally falling into a fake-proud mom expression. „I feel so honored you have come to me to discuss this.“ She closes her eyes and Frank moans, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. „You forced me to, in the first place, in case you don’t remember.“ 

„ANYWAY, so you’re worried.“ 

„Exactly.“ 

„About him, like what? Thinking you’re ridiculous?“ 

„Um…yes?“ Frank mumbles and rubs the back of his neck. „I’m kind of… violent on stage, I guess? It throws people off…“ 

„Okay, so let me get this straight for you.“ Becca pushes herself off the table and walks over to where Frank is helplessly trying to sink into the chair’s comfortable, padded backrest and just disappear into an other dimension. „You, Frank Iero, are the sickest guy I have ever met okay? In case that word doesn’t exist in your old man vocabulary, I might also say you are fucking rad, get it?“

Frank, the whiny (and NOT old) bitch he is, of course doesn't meet her eyes from where she is now throning in front of him, arms pressed into her sides and probably that unswerving look on her face. „And because, let’s be honest, you are a pretty rad piece of trash, you being up there on stage can’t be anything but kickass, okay? He’ll fall head over heels for you. Everyone loves small bundles of musical energy that go crazy when they do the things they love. To be honest, I would have tapped you right away if that wasn’t like, weird as fuck with our work relationship.“ She giggles into her hand and Frank shoots her a death glare. 

„What the actual fuck, Becca.“ He, despite him not wanting to, chuckles into his fist too. „Also I am NOT old.“

„Okay, so I know what you need.“ 

„I’m listening.“ 

„You need moral support. Brendon and I will tag along as form of really incompetent support and… I don’t know, just be there and get drunk while you try to solve your problems, I guess. How does that sound?“ 

„It’s alright, I guess.“ Frank huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He nods his chin at Becca to silently tell her to get the hell off that table so he can disinfect it before waiting for his next customer to arrive, just some regular cartilage piercing he’ll probably let Becca do, she’s crazy talented.

The time his workday is over and he has said his goodbyes to Bob (who has been in a surprisingly good mood for the last months), Patrick (who has forgiven Frank for stealing his apprentice since he got a raise or something, probably) as well as Brendon and Becca, who have just shared mischievous smiles that don’t make Frank any calmer and confident about performing, he is exhausted and absolutely . 

He grips the heavily worn off steering wheel hard as he pinches his well needed cigarette between his lips and inserts the Cd that he practically hasn’t stopped listening to since he and Gerard had put it together on that one evening. The beautiful sounds of Space Oddity start filling the stale air of his car and Frank lets out a relaxed breath, actually forgetting to exhale the smoke out of the window. He watches with no regret as it swirls out of his nostrils and through the practically windstill inside of his small, rusty vehicle, filling the car with the familiar, comforting scent that slips into every fiber and can never quite get rid of.

„Here we go.“

 

[†]

 

There’s a lot of things that feel good to Frank. 

Going to the guitar store, for example, examining the strings, trashing around in the soundproof rooms until he is on the verge of getting kicked out, admiring the sleek, glistening guitars for hours, only to head home and set up a schedule with money he has to save each month in order to buy that breathtaking white Les Paul he has been eyeing for the last year.

Tattooing feels good, it’s like drawing, really, only accompanied by the knowledge of your art being embedded into the customer’s skin forever. Being able to lean back, straightening out the sore muscles in his upper back and cracking his stiff neck and seeing the light and admiration in the client’s eyes is also pretty great.

Other… activities feel great also, preferably ones that leave him struggling to catch his breath with a hot body collapsing on top of him and burying his face in a soft chest with knees bumping into each other and cheap sheets peeling off damp backs.

But the probably greatest thing is the feeling when Frank gets off a long, hard, tiring day at the tattoo parlor and steps out of his car onto the blistering hot sidewalk, practically feeling the plastic of his sneakers sizzling underneath his feet. The feeling of pushing his growing hair behind his ears and getting filled to the brim with an almost childish bubbling excitement for the soundcheck he is about to do.

It’s really hot, considering it’s September and the days should gradually become more and more rain-filled, cloudy and overall colder and darker, but it seems to be one of those days where the weather decides to smack you in the face with ninety plus degrees when you have already packed away your summer clothing. Which, luckily, doesn’t matter in Frank’s case since he wears the same clothing all year round, way too many layers of shirts and cardigans, throw a thin gay lil sweater over the whole thing for good measure and you’re good to go.

Still doesn’t prevent him from catching a cold in the next two days though.

The rest of the crew hates doing soundcheck more than anything, Frank supposes it has to do with them probably rather spending time with their various partners or something, but once they get together and are allowed to fill the empty location with their music, it does lift all their spirits.

Pencey Prep has been formed just as Frank had started piercing at the tattoo parlor, when he was around twenty or something, and while everyone was very dedicated and were willing to practice practically every other day, they got signed to some underground record label only a year ago, an album planned in about next six months or so. 

It’s all up to the producing, the songs are more or less set already. 

Frank is surprised to find that the rest is already there, Shaun fiddling around with the chronically broken and basically piece of shit keyboard halter before eventually giving up on it and Tim, sweating bullets in the sticky heat of the basement, passed out on his drums, the huge kick supporting his lifeless body. A fond, lopsided grin stretches across Frank’s face as he gently sets down his battered guitar case next to John’s abandoned bass already shining in the halter. 

„Geez, what has gotten into you?“ Frank laughs as Tim’s body jerks and snaps up, trying to pass as if he just hadn’t been taking an exhaustion nap. „How come I am actually the last one to arrive? You lazy fuckers are destroying my reputation as the overachieving, arrogant asshole!“

Suddenly, there is a strong arm lodging itself around his neck from behind, pulling him close with a speed that leaves his brain reeling. „Frank!“ Shaun shouts into his ear and grins down on him, ruffling his hair with his other hand roughly before punching him in the shoulder. „I would say you’re late, but you’re still fucking early, we’re just earlier.“ 

Frank grins and unpacks his guitar, fingers slotting against the strings to pluck them individually, feeling his baby vibrate against his body and the strap dig into his shoulder. His other hand glides up and down the neck easily, leg automatically bouncing to a invisible beat. „So since we’ve magically assembled at this early hour, why don’t we just get this over with? More time for a couple of beers before the show.“

„I like the way you think.“ Shaun smirks and disappears behind the stage to retrieve the others probably lazing somewhere in the back. 

 

[†]

 

After driving past the address Brendon had texted Lindsey for what feels like the three hundredth time, they finally manage to find the actually not as shabby as expected apartment complex where the guy lives. Ray, who has volunteered to stay sober all night and drive them around immediately declares that he is going to stay in the car and wait for Lindsey and Gerard to pick him up. 

Which, of course, is accompanied by a loud shout of agreement from where Pete and Mikey are crammed into the very back of Ray’s large family van that can probably hold like, an entire school class.

„Fine, you lazy fuckers.“ Lindsey mumbles and pulls Gerard out of the car behind her onto the evening-dim sidewalk. „We’ll be back in five, if we don’t get like, kidnapped or something.“

„Yeah, yeah, just go and hurry up.“ Mikey’s muffled voice sounds from the back, but Lindsey has already shut the door so it’s pretty much drowned out by the echoing bang. 

„Whatever, let’s hope we find that apartment quickly. What number was it again?“   
„I think seventeen or something, not sure though.“

„Greaat.“ Lindsey drawls and begins to ascend what seems like an endless flight of stairs, and Gerard wonders why the fuck this building doesn’t have an elevator even though it is about ten floors high. 

Stairs suck. Even more so since Brendon seems to live at the very top.

The flight of stairs is practically endless and once they have reached the door they’re searching for, Lindsey and Gerard are panting and cursing under their breaths and downright exhausted. They need more exercise, damn.

But then again, who are they kidding, you can’t just un-master the unhealthy lifestyle.

Lindsey knocks at the door in a way that makes her look like she had been wandering through the desert for weeks and has just found the first form of civilization that can supply her with water. There is a small crash and a muffled yelp from the inside and the extra secure lock clicks a couple of times.

„We were wondering how the fuck you get all those groceries up here, because if I’m honest, there is no way in hell I would be able to climb ten fucking floors more than once a day. I’d probably starve or just get Taco Bell every day.“ Lindsey blurts before Brendon, who greets them in a half naked state and a pair of sweatpants thrown over his shoulder, even gets to open his mouth (typical).

He laughs that loud, obnoxious laugh, when suddenly two skinny arms wrap around his waist to flip him around and push him back into the apartment. Brendon tries to sneak a kiss from the curly-haired, bandana wearing guy, but fails when he is cruelly shoved aside.

„Hey, I’m Ryan, nice to finally meet you since Brendon practically never shuts up about you.“ He smiles and politely extends a hand, Lindsey giggling happily at the scene and shaking it a little too enthusiastically. „Sorry Brendon’s such a mess, but he never really coordinates his duties and whatnot. And yes, we in fact do go out way too often to get Taco Bell instead of proper grocery shopping, it has probably been the third time this week. Anyway, come in, it’ll take an other ten minutes till his lazy ass gets something done.“

Gerard and Lindsey awkwardly step inside as Ryan heads back into what turns out to be a small kitchen with weirdly colored tiles, returning to drying off a couple of plates and pans while whistling along to the Beatles vinyl scratching away under the crappy, worn out needle of the record player quietly noodling from the living room. 

Gerard is pleased to find out that their apartment is just as cozy and full of mismatched furniture as his, however it is a lot less messy as you would expect from someone as chaotic as Brendon. It’s probably Ryan and Dallon who keep the piles of dirty laundry and plates from escalating. 

„I’m really sorry.“ Brendon pants as he re-appears from the room where quiet bass playing is emerging from, clashing with Tomorrow never knows, only dressed in his trademark leather aesthetic skinny jeans and clutching a white shirt. He rushes into the kitchen to press a kiss to the back of Ryan’s neck and gives his ass a quick slap goodbye, darting away before his disapproving hand can deliver that smack to the back of Brendon’s head.

„Okay, let’s get moving, the rest is probably going to kill me anyway.“ He says and pulls the shirt on, Lindsey ironically nodding her head in approval when she notices it is something without like, an extravagant pattern or some shiny, metallic color. „Shut up, it’s the only thing I could find and I look good in everything anyway, now LET’S GO.“

 

[†]

 

They spot Frank leaning against the backside of the basement, with his leg propped up against the uneven, shitty brick wall behind him, smoking down his cigarette greedily and his unoccupied hand toying with something in his pocket. 

There is a long haired girl with big eyes and wide smile laughing and playfully pushing him while he let’s smoke escape from his nose as he laughs back and let’s her continue with her ministrations. Gerard can’t help but feel the ice-cold claws of jealously wrap around the insides of his chest, but then again, he’s being unreasonable and is reading into it more than is necessary like he always does. 

Frank’s definitely into girls, he’d know by now, but according to Frank’s descriptions, that seems to be Becca, and Frank has absolutely denied anything going on between them when Lindsey had questioned him over the phone due to Gerard sulking around practically all day at art class and texting her nonstop about his stupid concerns of Frank being taken.

They join the duo (which is quite loud with the excited reunion taking place between Brendon and Becca and her introducing herself warmly to everyone else, wow Gerard, look, she’s actually not that bad, stop being an asshole) and step inside, the familiar feeling of the ratty basement engulfing them like only the slightly displeasing but still familiar smell of unwashed sheets engulfs you when you practically fall into bed after an extremely tiring day.

The air is still as stuffy and too-warm as it has always been, and the smell of cheap alcohol and year old cigarette smoke that is never going to come out of the furniture and walls is also the same, a trademark smell that brings back feelings and memories of all sorts.

They decide to grab a couple of beers before Frank’s got to join the rest of the band and the rest is probably going to end up searching for Pete and Mikey again. Gerard is already chuckling to himself at the constant distrustful look Ray is throwing the two of them. 

They chatter about this and that, questioning Becca about how she likes New Jersey since she’s just moved half a year ago, teasing Ray for being the only responsible guy and still trying to figure out what kind of music Frank’s band will play, to which he replies with a shrug and lopsided smile, raising his eyebrows as he steers the conversation into an other direction.

„Okay, but there is one thing I’d really like to talk to you about.“ Brendon chimes in as he hands everyone a beer that the bartender is way too slowly pouring out. Gerard raises an eyebrow at Frank, who rolls his eyes with an annoyed groan before downing half of his beer in one go. 

„Spare us, please.“

„Um no, this is of extreme importance.“ He smiles and clinks his glass against Lindsey’s so her beer spills over a little, and Ray has to hold her back from smashing her’s against Brendon’s back and thus starting a war that will probably end with them knocking each other’s teeth out. „Anyway, as you probably don’t know, because Frank is a secretive little shit who doesn’t think that kind of thing is important, it’s his birthday on the 31st–

„Okay, we need to change this.“ Lindsey immediately interrupts loudly and crosses her arms over her chest as best as she can with her beer still in hand while also managing to kick Frank’s shin. „Stop keeping stuff from us!“ Of course she punctuates each word with jabbing Frank in the chest with one strong, pointy finger. 

„My birthday is really not that important!“ Frank protests but just earns a wordless slap to the back of his head from Mikey who was just about to escape with Pete dragging him off to somewhere, and a lot of disapproving glares from the others, except from Gerard, because guess what? 

He knows exactly when Frank was first graced with the light of earth. Wich of course has nothing to do with him laughing a solid thirty minutes because of Frank’s absolutely stoned ID-card picture while the other just pouted and turned the shitty Limp Bizkit track on MTV louder just to annoy Gerard back, nope, not at all.

„Pay attention to meee, I was trying to say something important.“ Brendon whines annoyingly enough to have all the attention centered on him anyway. „Back on track, I wanted to invite you to take part in a tradition that Frank, I and a couple of other friends have been organizing for the last years.“

„Ooh, us ruining traditions? I’m all ears.“ Lindsey grins from ear to ear and sticks her tongue out at Becca, who hides a giggle in the foam of her beer. Ray sighs and shoots her an attempted stern look, but with time, Gerard has the feeling it is more out of habit than actual disapproval. Even Ray, the literal saint and good person hasn’t been able to resist their corruption and has given up the failed attempt to teach them basic human decency. 

Whoops.

„Anyway, so I like to call myself the initiator of the raddest, most badass Halloween part ever, and the great part about it is that it falls on the same day as Frank’s birthday, so that means it’s a chance to invite even more people to annoy and embarrass him. It’s the full program, costumes, getting shitfaced and waking up next to a forty year old guy in an elf costume. Please say you’re free, it’s like, a once in a lifetime opportunity.“

„My ass, once in a lifetime opportunity, you’ve been saying that the last five or so years.“ 

„Potential once in a lifetime opportunity then.“ Brendon smirks and throws his arm around Frank’s neck, an other thing Gerard knows he hates. ‚Short people don't fucking like you using them as your personal crutch, get that the fuck into your head’ was probably the nice version Frank phrased as he ranted to him about that. Gerard can’t help but giggle to himself. He’s always loved the way Brendon can genuinely rile Frank up.

„You’re fucking impossible.“ Frank sighs in defeat and squirms away from Brendon, who plants an affectionate kiss onto his cheek. Gerard can see Frank smirking triumphantly through his discomfort when Brendon wrinkles his lips at the scratchy stubble Frank is sporting. 

„Anyway, you decide if you want to join that shitfest, or, much better in my opinion, stay at home and watch horror movies while feasting on the candy scavenged out of innocent children’s bags.“ Frank wiggles himself out of Brendon’s iron grip and places his empty glass onto the sticky counter. „I gotta go and meet up with the guys, check the strings. See ya.“ He salutes them lazily and disappears into the small crowd that has started to gather around the stage as the guitarist of the opening band fiddles around with his Strat.

„I knew this would go well.“ Brendon sighs to himself. 

„Seriously Brendon, sometimes I wonder why he is even friends with you.“

„Probably because of the same reason all of you are: I might be a prick but the natural charm just outweighs it all.“ He winks at Lindsey and earns an other smack to the back of his head. 

„Oh, don’t flatter yourself.“ They laugh wholeheartedly and finish their beers until the feedback of the assembling band member’s instruments starts to buzz over the noise of the crowd. Ray puts his glass down onto the counter as well.

„Anyway, I think I’m going to check out the right, get a closer look at the guitars, y’know.“ Ray nods his chin to the other side of the room and waves a quick goodbye. 

„I call bullshit, you’re only using that as an excuse to scout the room for Petekey and stalk them.“ Lindsey flicks something out of Ray’s hair and bumps him with her shoulder. 

„What can I say, I am a good mother. I watch out for my children.“ Ray salutes them and disappears into the crowd - well, disappears as well as his massive fro will let him. 

„In that case, I’m going to be a rad mother too and show Becca around.“ Lindsey locks her arm around Becca’s. Before Gerard can react, Lindsey has also claimed his and drags them away to a back corner of the stuffy basement where a creaky, small door leads to a cold and dark, but not too intimidating alleyway. 

„Wanna catch a quick smoke, go there. You can smoke inside too, but eh, think about the atmosphere, it’s way better. From time to time you’ll find some cool people back there. It’s basically where I met my current band members. Would recommend.“ Lindsey gestures and gives a scary looking dude with at least three studded leather belts a friendly nod. „I swear at least 80 percent of Jersey’s underground bands are formed there.“

„I’ll keep that in mind.“ Becca grins widely at the way the bulky guy smiles back at Lindsey surprisingly shyly before hiding behind his beer and turning to his equally scary friends to continue their conversation. „I bet you’ve met that guy there to, huh.“ Her eyes twinkle playfully and Lindsey smiles. 

„Oh, you bet. He’s a rad dude.“ 

„I see you’ve adapted some of Frank’s limited vocabulary.“ Becca remarks cheekily and hops onto the creaky barstool next to the wall, pulling up her semi-clean Dr.Martens clad feet and wrapping her arm around her knee while letting the shabby bricks support her back. „Can’t blame you though, it’s tons of fun.“

She leans back and let’s her eyes wander over the two of them, and Gerard can’t help but get the feeling that something knowing and wicked is gleaming in them when she takes him and his thankfully not-as-messy-as-usual self in. She smiles at him lopsidedly, a crooked front tooth giving her an intriguingly unique look. However, Gerard is not at all fond of the mischief twinkling in her eyes when she shamelessly looks him up and down. Shit makes him uncomfortable man, tone it down. Please. Internal nervous screaming/pleading. Pleaseplease.

„So… Gerard.“ She drawls slowly, eyes fixating on him, and Gerard, the anxious shy fuck he just is, has trouble keeping eye contact and wishes he has an other beer to at least attempt to conceal his awkward self. „Tell me about yourself, will you.“

Gerard’s eyes bulge out of his head as Becca leans back, a subtle, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Um. Yeah. That question is probably the worst question you can ask him, because man, Gerard is a really boring guy. Also, why ask him, why not Lindsey? He’s only like, the shadow constantly lurking behind her, please leave him alone.

„Uh… well.“ He says slowly, mouth parted as he struggles to piece together a coherent sentence that doesn’t involve ‚broke‘, ‚comics‘ and ‚horror movies‘ to summarize himself. He fidgets with his cuticles that are severely frayed because of his constant ministrations– ow, that hurt, fuck, it’s bleeding, and god dammit, he has to stop right now. 

Oh come on, Gerard, you can’t even introduce yourself, what the fuck. Pull yourself together, it’s fine, she’s a nice person, she’s friends with Frank, she won’t judge you, you are fine, Lindsey is here too, and wow, look at you giving yourself a pep talk to stop yourself from making a complete fool out of yourself by simply saying ‚Hey, I’m Gerard and I’m an art hoe‘. Geez. 

He takes a deep breath and almost rolls his eyes at himself for starting to feel the throat tightening tingles of nervousness pricking inside his ribcage. „Um, so I go to art school and… well, I like art. Wow, surprise, right?“ He chuckles to ease his reeling brain and is surprised when Becca lets out a tiny laugh herself, amused dimples leaving pretty dents in her cheeks. „Oh Yeah?“

Looking at the ground shyly he weirdly feels a lot more confident. Fuck his psyche for being so changeable and most of all, fuck himself for humor always getting to him, man. „I enjoy 70s horror movies and I work at the mall at a shitty ass music store that pretends to be this cool record store. There’s nothing else to say, to be honest. You pierce, right?“

Becca’s eyes light up and wow, did Gerard just keep up a conversation with practically a STRANGER and ON TOP OF IT asked a question back instead of just replying with a noncommittal, four word answer and then fleeing to steal a bottle of the most disgusting beverage from the bar and disappear with Lindsey? Yes he is. 

Basement Gerard is evolving. The world is quaking. 

„Oh, yeah, I’m telling you, it’s like, the best thing ever. Body art? Hell yes. The people there? Rad as fuck. Frankie is one of the most impressive artists I have ever come across, man. Ever see his work? He told me the two of you met at the parlor?“

Gerard opens his mouth and the closes it again, because 1. um Frank told her about him…? (Well ok Gerard, don’t get your panties in a twist, the two of you have literally become nearly inseparable over the last few months) and 2. wow, he really doesn’t know if he is able to laugh about the glorious (sorta) first meeting they had or if he’ll still curl up in fetal position and lock himself in the bathroom for at least 45 minutes. 

Fuck it, he decides, he has been gifted with the new power of communication for the time being, so he might as well just use it. 

„Ugh, yeah, I’m really not proud of it but I actually blacked out when I watched him tattoo Linds for the first time. She forced me to tag along, don’t look at me like that. Needles are not really my thing.“ He rolls his eyes but Becca clasps her hands over her mouths. When she excitedly points her finger at him Gerard has to roll his eyes even harder. Oh hell no, here it comes.

„So you’re the… Oh wow. Man, you are like, a legend at the shop. I would pay to see that. Blood everywhere? Hot guy fainting on Frankie? I heard he was flustered as fuck. Just the rumor kitchen talking though. Fucking badass, dude!“ Becca enthusiastically babbles on, Gerard’s brain tripping over the ‚hot guy‘ and ‚flustered as fuck‘ parts in the meantime.

„But okay, despite maybe looking like an inconsiderate asshole, I am not one, so I’ll be so kind to drop to subject. It’s one hell of a story though, y’know, to tell it at a party or something.“ She pats Gerard’s shoulder when she notices he’s kind of terrified of her having so much fucking inside information. 

„Whatever, it’s okay. I think I am slowly coming to terms with that fucking disaster.“ He smiles at her warmly and it turns into a smirk when he sees Lindsey staring at him in disbelief. „Let’s grab an other round of beers, what do you say?“

 

[†] 

 

In the later hours of the evening, Gerard has managed to free himself from Lindsey’s all-controling and determined iron grip on him, which is why he finds himself alone at the bar, slowly sipping an other warm, stale beer that tastes absolutely horrendous. Bitter foam is sticking to his upper lip and his legs are constantly trying to slip off the mismatched, splintery bar stool he has claimed for himself. 

Not to be a prick, but he is kind of relieved to have some alone time finally. He’s very dependent on his social life, but sometimes, places like this tend to get a little too much too soon. The constant push and pull of warm bodies and the noise combined with people dragging him around here and there (granted, he lets them) had his nerves on edge after the dawn of the second hour, so he did what he does best: wriggle his way out of his and flee. 

And that’s why he’s here, watching as the guitarist of the opening band waves to the booming crowd one last time before disappearing behind the stage. Their music was as crappy as their DIY haircuts, guitar way too loud and poorly skilled, the lead singer’s screaming weak as hell and the drums way too trashy, but Gerard enjoyed every fucking minute of it.

At gigs like these, skill and quality isn’t exactly of importance, it’s more about the way the lead singer trashes around on stage like he’s tripping on bath salts, the way the bassist (whose input is limited to singular root notes) who is furiously throwing the poor instrument around like a madman and the way the rhythm guitarist ho is giving it his all despite his hilarious lack of skill that just gets the crowd fucking wild, sweaty bodies jumping and pushing and shouting and crashing against each other that makes the heavy atmosphere in the stuffy basement vibrate through the sweat thick air.

If that’s what the crowd is looking for, then yes, skill doesn’t matter. If they did, some steroid-pumped dude would have immediately jumped onto the stage and socked that guitarist straight into the nose.

Gigs like there are what get the hairs on Gerard’s arms standing and his heart beating faster in his throat, and despite him really really not being a people person, his entire body is itching to set his beer aside and just throw himself into the screaming, jumping pit of drunk, instant people living the absolutely shit music on the way too small space and just absolutely fucking let go.

Anxiety comes before Fun though, just like the alphabet, so there’s that. Get fucked, Gerard.

So he just stays put, grimacing as he tries to get rid of the bitterness of the last sip of disgusting beer coating the back of his tongue. He still gets an other one though. 

The bartender sends him a shy, lopsided smile as he slides Gerard a fresh beer, holding eye contact longer than is appropriate/necessary. Gerard smiles back briefly and drops his money onto the counter, nodding his chin to indicate the guy to keep the change and slides away from his pressuring gaze thanks to the stool actually rotating.

And he sighs.

To talk or not to talk, that is the question. He maybe should have interacted with that bartender. Probably. Absolutely if he’d ask Lindsey. In fact, he hear her voice echoing through his head, ranting on and on about him needing to throw himself into the pool again of some shit, ugh Fuck, they’ve had that talk a couple of months ago and he does NOT want to remember it.

He understands where she is coming from, really.

His love life has never excelled, in any stage of his life. Starting with school where he was the bullied, greasy goth art kid who was partly invisible, partly had like, two other friends, partly got shoved into lockers and called a fag because he was deemed to girly for society’s close meshed, fucking stupid mold. 

So naturally, while others hooked up like rabbits in spring, Gerard was the kind to barricade himself in his basement, blocking out as much sun as possible and sketching away over hours while watching B-Horror movies until he passed out on his crumpled sheets, preferably next to the already calmly sleeping body of Mikey.

The beginning of Art School promised to be a new start, but the only thing that came from it was tumbling down into a crazy spiral of drinking way too much and hanging out with dodgy and bad people. His looks then sure did fit in, and soon all his spare time was filled with hooking up with way too many forgettable faces on weekdays and doing the occasional line of coke on some deeply scratched, sticky glass table in smoke-polluted, abyss-dark back rooms. 

Those dark times also brought something even darker with them. 

Bert McCraken.

A sharp stab of pain pulses through the back of Gerard’s head and he winces, quickly drowning a mouthful of beer to soothe the white hot phantom pain. The band has stopped playing to make room for the next one. A shaggy haired dude starts to fiddle with something that looks like a very fucked keyboard stand. Gerard leans back until the counter digs into his vertebras, mentally preparing himself for the next band that will have a painfully familiar guitarist as their lead singer.

Nope, he definitely doesn’t need anyone, absolutely not. He is fine the way he is, alone but with the people that matter around him, friends, Mikey. He doesn’t need a significant other, doesn’t need romantic connections, he’s fine on his own and he don’t need no man, correction, doesn’t need anyone, and most of all, he doesn’t need Frank–

Well fuck, he lied.

His heart skips at least three beats as Frank jumps on stage excitedly and belts out a quick cheer that is caked up by the frank yelling of the fifty or so sweat bodies suddenly gravitating towards the stage, into the mic, white guitar hanging off his neck.

Dear God, that weird, choppy haircut, tattoo-splashed forearms and neck. Lip ring straining against his mouth as he shakily bares his flashing teeth at the crowd, nose scrunched up, dimples decorating a face so awfully sculpted it should be considered a roman marble statue or something.

Involuntarily, Gerard has to grab the counter, hard, to make sure he is actually awake. And dig his already white fingers a little harder into the sticky, splintery wood so that he doesn’t topple off his stool. 

Because Frank… shit. 

Gerard draws in a quick breath, almost choking on his beer as Frank throws himself into the first song, passionately and without losing time, slotting those tattooed fingers against the frets in a raw, yet still kind of delicate and elegant way. 

Gerard has seen a lot of attractiveness in his twenty-four year long life, but Frank on stage, in a plain, white, skintight shirt, pure, hoe energy radiating from him - it leaves his mouth dryer than the Sahara.

Since the very first second, Gerard is caught in some sort of fixated rigor, entire body glued to the spot, blinking held to a minimum, like he is afraid of missing even a the slightest fraction of time that contains Frank being absolute gorgeous.

Afraid of missing millisecond of what is Frank Iero’s short, bundled frame of pure, raw energy jumping and trashing around on stage like a madman, only to come up and spit guttural screams into the feed-backing microphone and then dive into a heavy, vibrating set of dirty, barred riffs his tattooed fingers scrape down the guitar neck, mouth slack, open, spit and sweat flying from his face with his headbanging.

Because, oh God, if this doesn’t hit all of his kinks then he doesn’t know what does. As Pencey Prep’s gig progresses, the crowd gets more and more energetic and loud as they discover that, hey, the music coming from the five piece band isn’t actually a load of trash. Gerard, too (obviously, duh), finds himself actually genuinely enjoying their music and style of performance. 

You can really tell a lot of effort goes into this band, with the way they are almost professionally in synch and just melt into one big thing rather than being individual instrumentalists accidentally crammed onto a stage together. 

While he scans the crowd, he also notices that, besides of the several people absolutely jamming out to their music, Ray on the other side of the room is in a similar state like Gerard, eyes wide and just fucking amazed, looking like he has just found the meaning of life. 

Relatable, Ray, relatable.

Pencey Prep plays two more songs before Frank announces they’ll play one more song before they can get pissed themselves, and that’s when Frank’s moss green, heavy lidded eyes search the crowd as he almost deliriously hangs off the mic stand, slowly, sultrily, until they slowly, agonizingly laggardly rest on Gerard, click in place like they have found their forever missing jigsaw counterpart. 

Furious heat claws up his neck when Frank continues to sing and his eyes just don’t leave, as his fingers and body move against his guitar with renewed raw energy until the last riff of Pencey Prep’s show is rattling through the venue and bouncing off the walls. 

Frank calls out a few hoarse swear-dripping thank you’s and then he’s gone, hopped off the stage probably in search of a towel and a clean shirt.

Gerard blinks. Swallows heavily. Adjust himself in his pants.

Shit, he really needs an other beer.

 

[†]

 

Frank almost breaks his ankle as he jumps off the stage instead of taking the clanky metal stairs like every normal human being would, but he doesn’t even notice the strain.

It happens sometimes, when he is especially hyped and he can’t feel anything but the deafening pounding of adrenaline loaded blood roaring in his ears and the sensational full body tingle the exertion of him trashing around on stage leaves him with.

He likes to think the reason the excessive energy that only kicks in after he leaves the stage is due to his something around 5’ 2’’ tall body, which obviously means the endorphins have a way higher concentration in his body than for example Shaun’s. The tall bastard.

Anyway, it’s actually just an excuse for him to tackle his bandmates backstage and share his excitement over the response and energy the crowd gave back and how well everyone pulled off their parts. They, quite exhausted and worn out, do share his elated state but kindly tell him to fuck off and get a clean shirt or they’ll force him so they can start grabbing beers as soon as possible.

As Frank clumsily fists the fabric at the back of his neck to tear it off his sticky torso, the thought of quickly changing leads him to the tempting prospect of drowning a couple of beers/shots at the bar which leads him to fucking Gerard Way sitting there with his eyes glued to his band. The weight of the fact that he had just bared his soul to his friends really hits him just now, he had absolutely pushed that aside the minute his foot connected with the ratty ground of the stage.

A strange mix of emotions wells up in his chest, partly grin tugging at his lips at the promise of just being in Gerard’s addicting company, partly kind of awkward because man, does he rock those black skinny jeans and it’s messing with Frank’s head.

ANYWAY, back on track, he’s planning on getting fucking wasted today, preferably with Gerard, getting so drunk he’ll probably only remember this night’s occurrences in foggy bits in tomorrow’s hungover-throbbing miserable state, yeah, that is absolutely what he is aiming for after that thirty minute set.

That absolutely doesn’t mean he isn’t going to shock Gerard by suddenly jumping onto the bar stool that appears to be free next to him though. He smiles to himself when Gerard jolts a little when he throws himself onto the stool next to him with a loud thump, leaning back against the counter and nodding his chin at Dave, the bartender, who, to Frank’s dismay, is eyeing Gerard really really intensely. He annoys him further until the dude finally diverts his attention to Frank so he can bark ‚the usual‘ over the noisy people.

„Hey.“ He turns around and smiles at Gerard before clumsily fishing out a battered pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, producing a scratched and probably empty lighter from the other. His grin turns even wider as Gerard’s eyes don’t exactly light up at his choice of brand but his pupils still dilate in the typical nicotine-addicted way. Of course he looks away discreetly to probably not be obtrusive or needy or anything because he’s a fucking angelic person. 

Frank sighs internally.

So Frank does what any regular, not-asshole human being would do: He extends his still sweat-glistening and bruised arm out, flicking his pack provocatively a few times into Gerard’s direction. „Want one?“ He clamps one between his lips himself, words a little muffled now, but has that ever hindered him from chewing people’s ears off at the same time? He bets Gerard could talk around a cigarette splendidly with that sinfully lopsided mouth of his. „Because you haven’t lit up in at least two hours, dude, and we’re both heavy smokers, if I was you I’d probably be shaking now.“ 

He’s attentive, not creepy, alright?

He nudges Gerard’s shoulder with the pack slowly, probably in a really annoying way and raises a single eyebrow at him repeatedly, completely aware at how dorky he must look, with his sweat damp hair sticking to his forehead, dumbly suspicious eyebrow wiggle and unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, tongue occasionally flicking against the filter and playing around with it.

Because who cares, really. 

Post-gig Frank does absolutely not give a shit about anything, that is, at least, until he is still flying high from that high-dosage of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Right now, he can practically feel the lack of stress and awkwardness that comes with being pleasantly buzzed, the entire world seems to be open to him and he is teetering on the edge of euphoria, which, you know, compared to post-work depression and life in general, is kind of nice.

Which, in hindsight, might also be freaking Gerard out as he cautiously accepts a cigarette with a tight lipped smile and lights it for himself. So he might as well tone it down a gear or two. 

Luckily, his lighter is still working, sputtering a little to produce a tiny, pitiful flame. They spend a few minutes in comfortable silence, just dragging from their smokes and watching the next band set up. 

Gerard has this incredibly feminine way of smoking, not that it’s Frank’s first time noticing, but it’s still absolutely worth pointing out every time he witnesses it. The way his lashes flutter shut as his soft lips wrap around the filter, how his pinky refuses to join the rest of it’s elegant, ebony white neighbors, somehow protruding in an almost ninety degree angle and the way he exhales the wispy, white smoke with hollowed cheeks tactfully to the right. And the same thing on repeat, soft lips, elegant fingers, breathtaking white length of his neck exposed by the upward tilt of his chin.

He gets so lost in the oddly very aesthetically pleasing act he doesn’t even notice Gerard obviously catching him staring.

„Uh, sorry what?“ Frank’s head snaps up and turns pink, causing Gerard to huff and roll his eyes playfully, a toothy grin tugging at his lips. 

„Man, I try to compliment you once and you have to make me say it twice, that’s fucked up.“ Gerard giggles in that weirdly nasal way that makes Frank’s brain stutter for a moment and suddenly makes the room a little hotter than it was just seconds before, blowing wispy smoke out of that pointy, sculpted nose.

„Ah, don’t lie, dude, you love to compliment my amazing self and you know it.“ Frank gestures to his admittedly still post-show gross body and tilts his head and grins at Gerard through his lashes as he takes an other drag of his rapidly dying cigarette. At the same time he internally rolls his eyes at his over confident, too cocky self that has absolutely no verbal filter whatsoever. He only had like, two beers before the show, dammit, he shouldn’t be this flirty. The other side of his brain gets an odd satisfaction out of seeing that beautiful red hue dust across the apples of Gerard’s cheeks and it makes weird tingles bounce from his chest into his stomach and back again.

„Oh shut up, you.“ Gerard looks away, hiding his wide, dimply smile behind an other, long drag of his dead cigarette, scrunching up his nose in disgust when he doesn't notice it’s already almost dead and he only sucks in gross filter air.

„Wanna take the next one outside?“ Frank raises his eyebrows at Gerard and, without gracing the bartender with a look as he gladly accepts the shots he has been thirsting to get into his bloodstream. 

He’s sure washing them down like they are water isn’t the best idea, but eh, whatever, he decides he is going to indulge himself into this today. He’s earned it. Even if that means that prying his eyes away from Gerard’s neck and thighs is going to get harder and harder by the second. God, how he wishes to dig his fingers into the flesh he knows is so soft, oh so–

„Yeah, sure.“ Gerard shrugs, sliding off the barstool to step on the cigarette for good measure, y’know, him being the careful soul he always is. „If I can bum an other smoke, that is. Kind of too broke to afford an other pack for the next two days and I am lowkey panicking.“ He sighs dramatically and Frank nods, pursing his lips, he’d probably give Gerard his last cigarette even if he’d been on an other attempted withdrawal for a week. 

Wow, look at that love confession.

 

[†]

 

The moment the two step outside the heavy, iron back door, a now slightly tipsy and still adrenaline-buzzing Frank leading the way with Gerard following behind him, the fresh, evening air brushes up against their flushed faces and tickles Frank’s bare arms, tugging at the fine hair. 

„I meant it, you know?“ Gerard says after he accepts the next smoke Frank wordlessly hands him, leaning up against the wall sideways to face him, flicking his hair out of his face. 

They are illuminated only by a milky, shitty round light that is surrounded by a halo of erratically flickering moths and mosquitos buzzing around it, the light beautifully bouncing off Gerard’s cheekbones and cupid’s bow, practically begging Frank’s eyes to glue to that sinfully beautiful, oh so kissable spot– no, wait. Gerard asked you something. Come up with something intelligent.

„Um… what?“

Gerard snorts and playfully rolls his eyes at Frank, lips parting with the corners of his mouth tilting up in a friendly way. „You are going to make me say it again, aren’t you. You’re impossible. Anyway, you and the band are really talented. And I mean that.“ He says hesitantly, pulling up his shoulders and averting his eyes while hiding behind his cigarette once again like Frank knows he likes doing when he feels nervous about something.

And it sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach, like a small eruption of a whole army of them, tickling and frolicking against the insides of his belly and chest and making him a little light headed. „I, uh, you really mean that?“ He asks, just to double check, because even though he might be a confident ass at the moment, there is still the part of him that is actually scared shitless about showing Gerard his music, letting him witness is his biggest passion and love.

Gerard lets out a quiet, soft laugh that is actually just a tiny blow of air through his nose and those beautiful hazel eyes soften. He nudges his shoulder with his non-cigarette occupied hand. „Don’t be so awkward about it, man, it’s the truth.“ He says and moves a couple of inches away from Frank to stub out his cigarette, only to move in closer again, under the weak, pale, insect-haloed light of the bulb looming above him. 

„See, compared to that other band that played before you, for starters, your music is way better, trust me on that one. It is really really kickass.“ Gerard smiles lopsidedly and now it’s Frank’s turn to nervously shy away from that breathtakingly intense look Gerard is sending him, holding his eyes attentively, steadily, like he always does when he really wants to get a message across without being overly aggressive or overloading. 

„Aw come on, stop it, you.“ Frank whines and tries to wiggle away from the long finger now stabbing into his chest, but Gerard is getting on a roll now, and he knows best that there is no getting out there. „Oh, you wanted compliments, now you’re getting them, suck it up.“ Gerard grins cheekily and pokes his finger into Frank’s pec again, absolutely not making him yelp in surprise. „First of all, you are a better singer than I would have expected. And yes, I am referring to the times you sang ABBA under the shower. Because that really, really came close to ear rape.“ Frank inhales sharply at that, because, holy shit, Gerard shouldn’t be remembering that. 

„That absolutely is a lie.“

„You wish it was.“ Gerard laughs happily, warm breath fanning Frank’s face, and seriously, if Gerard doesn’t move away a little farther, there is going to be a problem

„Also, if you once again play down your guitar skills like that, I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.“

„Oh come on, I’m not that good. I’m average. It’s rhythm guita–“

„Don’t make me punch you. Also–

Gerard’s words just suddenly become one, fluid, melodic mix to Frank, like a warm, soft bass thrum in the back of his mind, because, damn, Gerard is starting to gesture again, using those sinfully elegant hands in that stupid way that attracts Frank to him more than it should. 

He’s getting that excited glint in his eyes when he’s talking about something he is passionate about, and just the fact that it is fucking him talking about Frank and his band is messing with his brain in a way that wow, is getting pretty dangerous. 

Every time Gerard’s lopsided way of talking gets a little out of control and every time he seems to realize his hands gesture a little too wildly, Frank’s heart starts beating faster in his ears, erratically trying to send enough oxygen into his not functioning brain, sending a heavy wave of heat flushing his neck and chest. 

There are so many things he admires about Gerard, and after all those weeks and months of first impressions and becoming close friends, this isn’t just about his appearance anymore, but just every single thing that is just so Gerard that so much gets to Frank, makes him want to fist his fingers in that long, jet black hair and drag him down to crash their lips together.

So he fucking does. 

He almost doesn’t notice doing so, it’s almost like he’s acting on instinct, fingers brushing against Gerard’s scalp before curling and getting that soft hair tangled between his digits, and pulling his head down, meeting him halfway to envelope that puckered upper lip with his own, tilting his own head expertly to slot them together oh so heavenly. 

Endorphins are coursing through his body, pinching him in the gut and exploding in his chest, heightening every single sensation he experiences, sending tingles through his fingertips where they tighten in Gerard’s hair, tickles to where his nose is brushing up against Frank’s cheek and sparks ghosting over where their lips meet in a blissful softness Frank hadn’t realized he craved this much.

He is so absorbed in the pleasure of the moment he doesn’t notice that Gerard had completely stilled under him, eyes still open where Frank’s had fluttered shut at the first contact, body rigidly frozen to the spot and heart still for a beat. 

He doesn’t notice until a small, breathy sound that causes Gerard’s lips to part under his, the wet, warm skin moving ever so slightly against his own that makes Frank lose control, lets his hand slide under his jacket and around his soft waist and flip Gerard over so that he has him pressed against the jagged wall behind him, a huff of air leaving him at the maybe too forceful push and press of Frank’s body flush against his.

Frank wastes no time in crashing their lips together again, this time more forcefully, a little more messily, not able to bite back the low, guttural groan forcing itself out of his throat when Gerard seems to awaken under him and kiss back, not with the level of blunt fore Frank does, but with slow precision, smoothly, lips sultrily gliding over his own with just the right amount of pressure and edge, sucking and nibbling from underneath that leaves Frank incompetent of any other thought and sensation that isn’t Gerard. 

His hands find their way ghosting over his quickly rising and falling chest, trailing his fingers around the smooth edges of Frank’s muscles, exactly knowing where to apply pressure to get one pleasured hum after the other out of him until they reach up to feather-lightly cup his jaw, tilting Frank’s head little more to deepen the kiss even further and pull him even impossibly closer.

They kiss like that for a minute, Frank not completely taking control but Gerard not exactly surrendering either, expertly slotting their bodies together in all the right paces with curious hands exploring every inch of Frank’s smaller form expertly. 

But Frank wants, no, needs more, wants to get closer to Gerard, become one with his body, reduce the remaining space between them to nothing at all. So his inexperience can fuck off, this isn’t about Gerard being a guy, it’s about Gerard being fucking Gerard and Frank wants to experience his entire beauty in and out, want to see what else he has in stock. 

Yeah, fuck it, he says to himself and grabs Gerard’s chin to tilt it sideways and slides his tongue into the warm, wet heat of his mouth, moaning a little at the feeling of Gerard’s tongue slick against his. Frank dares to take it a little further and roll his hips against Gerards, not expecting the stuttering, high-pitched sigh ripping out of his throat when his hip brushes something that is undeniably Gerard quite enjoying himself. He smiles against Gerard’s mouth when he realizes just how much he is falling apart beneath him, how much Gerard actually likes what Frank is doing and he can’t help the satisfied huff through his nose.

„Fuck“ Gerard pants, reluctantly peeling his lips away from Frank because apparently breathing is a thing that exists and looses no time to flip them around, pressing Frank up the hard, shitty uncomfortable brick wall and diving down again to capture Frank’s thin, upper lip between his, lapping at the still warm lower one, begging for entrance. Frank eagerly complies, his enthusiasm sending Gerard reeling. 

Hand immediately fisting in his hair again lets white hot electricity race up and down his spine. Oh, how he loves those tender, tattooed digits of sin. 

Frank kisses like his personality, straight forward and energetically with a fiery passion that lets a scorching heat erupt in Gerard’s lower stomach, only intensified by the way Frank’s fingers possessively tug at the short hairs hiding beneath the longer strands at the nape of his neck. 

He can feel that Frank is inexperienced, or that he doesn’t do this often. With guys, he means. Frank sure gets all the chicks with those scorching hot looks, but nope, he’s not thinking about that right now. 

Especially not when a feather-light, almost impossible to hear whimper vibrates on Gerard’s tongue from beneath him. 

Frank’s hands are slightly clumsy and sometimes hesitant, as if he doesn’t exactly know where they feel good on a guy, where the occasional grope belongs, the way he doesn’t exploit the sensitive, tingling pleasure kissing someone sporting stubble can bring. 

It’s not much different, but they are subtleties Gerard still can tell. 

Because he’s a huge gay pro, deal with it. 

He can feel Frank panting beneath him, hot, damp breath against his spit-slicked lips, and he can just imagine how delicious Frank must look like thin lips swollen, pupils blown to the point his irises are mere a pale, swamp ring in the weak lighting, cheeks and neck flushed just the slightest bit of red. 

However, he doesn’t open his eyes yet as he plunges his tongue into Frank’s mouth again, oh, no, he’s got something else planned. Taking in Frank’s blissed out state only happens when Gerard’s hands travel down from Frank’s cheek, over his deliciously jutting hipbones to the strong muscles of his thighs, digging his fingers in sharply to part them and without a warning pressing his own thigh between them. 

The sharp intake of breath he gets out of Frank makes him smile against his lips just like Frank did before when he thought he totally had Gerard and he doesn’t slow down with the ministrations against Frank’s rapidly hardening dick until he is a panting, heated mess beneath him. 

He pulls back and now is the time he allows himself to take a look at Frank, a look of the pleasure-slack face that admittedly has been haunting his dreams and letting himself wake up with sticky sheets and brain reeling and wow, if breathing was ever difficult, right now is a completely different level.

His eyes meet Frank’s halfway, heavy lidded and shyly fluttering to where Gerard’s hands are still resting on his thighs before looking up at him, gazing through his beautiful, thick lashes. Their off-rhythm breaths fills the night-quiet air, a couple of the last dying crickets chirping in the distance where the quiet, occasional rumble of the highway melts away to a comfortable background buzz. 

Frank’s eyes flick to Gerard’s hands again, and now his own are slowly, agonizingly sensually inching up Gerard’s arms, over his shoulders and smoothing down Gerard’s chest again, fingers of both hands splaying out to take in the most content he can. 

His eyes, fire-hot and heavy, don’t leave Gerard’s the entire time, only flicking down to his adams apple when he swallows shakily at just how quickly he has picked up. Gerard’s eyes fall closed as the pads of Frank’s thumbs ghost over Gerard’s cloth covered nipples, and Gerard can feel just the slightest amount of lips ghosting over his, like the dance of a sweet, spring wind before it is gone as quickly as it came, leaving Gerard chasing it with a tentative brush to the corner of Franks mouth, a puffy breath leaving his loosely parted mouth. 

Gracefully like a deer, Frank changes their angle and brushes his parted lips against Gerard’s again, puling way again before Gerard can engulf them and teasing him with three feather light touches to his jaw, other hand painfully slowly inching lower and lower–

„That’s hot, yo.“ 

A sudden voice let’s the magic completely disappear, like a gust of wind carrying away the smoke of a dying cigarette bum. 

They both flinch so hard their noses crash against each other, Gerrard’s bridge smacking Frank’s nostril, and the both yelp in pain, hands flying to the abused area. 

„What the fuck, Becca?“ Frank pouts, voice pitching a little higher than usual, lips pursing in a pouty way that makes him want to kiss it away immediately. 

„Don’t look at me like that, all I did was come out here with the good intention of lighting up once or twice, I’m innocent.“ 

„You don’t even smoke!“ Frank huffs in laughter but quickly widens his eyes when he notices his hands are still all over Gerard’s chest. 

„Oh yeah? How would you know? You’re not my dad.“ Becca grins cheekily, wiggling her eyebrows and lighting a cigarette in the security of her cupped hand. She blows a sweaty, messy lock of hair our of her face and pats her chin thoughtfully. „You know what? I’m going inside, smoking is allowed there too and it’s not like, negative ten degrees. Let the others know the two of you are actually alive when you’re done, kay? Ray has lost Pete and Mikey again and he’s freaking out. Use protection, bye.“ She disappears before either of them can jump away from each other like thirteen year olds.

They just stay frozen like that for a little while before Frank’s adorable giggle fills the silence. Gerard huffs a small laugh as well, because even though he didn’t like Becca that much earlier, she actually is a fucking funny person and enjoyable to be around. „Geez, the girl needs to be in better company, she’s like, twelve.“

„Aw, is someone overprotective?“ Gerard teases and bows his neck down to brush his lips over Frank’s scorpion tattoo at the side of his neck. Damn, he had wanted to do that for ages. Probably since the first time he laid eyes on Frank. 

„Oh, you bet I am.“ Frank replies, a little wobbly, but suddenly sinks his hands into Gerard’s hair again and pulls at it, hard, pushes Gerard back against the wall, growling as he attacks his lips. 

Suddenly, there is a sharp pain exploding in the back of Gerard’s head as it connects with the brick wall, and this time he knows it is from Frank being a bit too rough, which he absolutely doesn’t mind, but fuck, that spot. At the back slightly to the left and up. The spot that drags the pain all the way from the back of his skull to his forehead, blinding him, white hot and excruciating. 

Everything goes black for a second, then red, eyes blind to the real world, instead his vision is filled with threatening white walls, red carpets and dark vastness that is the pitch black night outside the smashed window above where he is crouching on the floor. 

Ceramic shards, with droplets of his own blood smearing down them in slow motion, finger sticky-slick with the same painfully warm liquid, not from the cut on the inside of his thumb, but from from prodding at a lot larger one on the back of his head–

„Gerard? You okay?“

An abyss-dark voice, threateningly little muffled through the thin walls, one that has learned his body to cower and stay as still as possible when it slurs that particular way.

He forgets how to breathe for a moment. The grey hue covering his eyes is pierced by the caring green of the eyes he has learned to love, and he is sucked back into reality, what once was pain that left his eyes unable to open and drool run from his barely closed mouth is nothing more than n almost unnoticeable thrum there with him leaning motionlessly against the brick wall, one hand lifelessly dangling from his side and an other one crushing Frank’s wrist between his fingers.

„What’s… happening? Did I do something wrong?“ Frank hesitates and carefully removes his arm from Gerard’s iron grip. „Talk to me, Gerard, you’re scaring me.“ 

Slowly, inch by inch, Gerard’s eyes refocus and land on Frank’s, drowning in the deep, forest green orbs. He lets out the shaky breath he has been holding and stretches his fingers, knuckles snow white, palms angry red from gripping Frank so hard.

„I– Let’s go inside. Becca was right, it’s fucking cold.“ Gerard just chokes out weakly, breath still going quick, and averts his eyes, turning to leave, shanking his sore hands. He feels bad for Frank. He probably really fucked up that wrist of his.

There are masses of masses of thoughts racing through Frank’s mind all at once, brows furrowed, confusion probably written all over his face, because shit, what the fuck is going on? Oh no, no, no, this is not going the way it’s supposed to, at all. 

If he has nothing to do with Gerard’s strange behavior, what is it then? 

„Gee, please, what’s going on?“ He say quietly, which surprises Gerard as he stops with his slightly shaking bare hand on the metal door handle. His eyes drop to the floor, hair falling into his face forbidding to let Frank see those beautifully troubled pale features. 

„It’s not something I can talk about. Yet. Sorry Frank.“ He breathes, barely above a whisper and disappears through the door, the thump echoing through the dark barely lit alley. 

The scattered gravel crunches under Frank’s feet impolitely as he turns around to slump against the wall aimlessly and exhaustedly, pressing the knuckles of his hands into his eyes while the moths above him are purposelessly whirring around the flickering light. 

He sighs deeply, breath leaving a thin white cloud escaping his nostrils that dissolves into the cold, starry night air. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick music rec: Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes: Juggernaut / Devil inside me
> 
> Also anything by Royal Blood. Mike Kerr is one hell of a bass player, holy fuck.


End file.
